Remember how just two days ago we were cooing over how cute Nick the Berry-Eating Dog was? What a difference two days makes.
So yesterday was a scorcher. After staining the front porch the day before, we were banned from walking on it, which meant our usual respite from the heat was off-limits. We moved the porch chairs out to the "back yard" and did what we could to cool off in between the odd chores we had lined up for the day. But by 5 o'clock, Mason threw in the towel and suggested we drive down to Steve's Landing, a local restaurant where the food is crappy but the beer is affordable and the outdoor patio is shaded by the most beautiful silver maples. And most importantly, there's parking in the shade, which means Nick can go for a car ride -- a rarity in this summer's heat.
So on the outdoor patio, just a few yards from Nick's spot in the shade in the truck (with the windows down), Mason and I enjoy some cold beers, crappy chicken wings and greasy onion rings. There are a couple of cats on the patio, begging for food and attention. Offered some wings, even they turn up their noses.
OK, so we drink, eat, hit the head, then go back to the truck. I beat Mason back, so I let Nick out to have a quick pee before the drive home. He sniffs here and there, and quickly makes his way toward the outdoor patio. It seems Nick has seen the cats. And it seems he is no longer listening to his owner, who is trying not to make a scene and is calling his name with hushed urgency.
Next thing I know, Nick is on the outdoor patio, weaving his way through tables toward the last known sighting of said cats. Then, I'm hopping over the patio railing (in my short dress) and chasing after Nick as restaurant patrons watch and laugh. "Nick, come here," I pleaded.
At this point, Mason has exited the building. About the time he sees me hop the railing (in my short dress), he promptly makes a beeline for the truck. "Who her? The crazy lady chasing the dog through the outdoor eatery? Nope, never seen her before in my life."
Alas, I finally corral Nick before any cat incident can occur and immediately chide him, "Bad dog, bad dog," which brings a new wave of laughter from the patrons.
Like any good wheel man, Mason has pulled the truck around to the entrance of the patio for a quick getaway; I herd Nick into the front seat, hop in and we flee -- with our tails between our legs.
Our clean escape calls for a celebration: We pick up a newspaper and a roadie at the Outpost convenience store on the way home.
And another pleasant day winds down ...