Daddy’s Home
January 26th, 2007 | 
Category: Email this to a friend
What makes Hotdog special is what happened earlier. I had to run to the store, and as I pull up to the corner, I see him galloping at me from the diagonal-neighbor’s house (the one in which he hangs around, gets fed and groomed by the old lady that lives there). It’s dark and my headlights light up his eyes like yellow jewels bouncing across the street.
I got out to make sure he wasn’t under my car, because it looked as though he was coming up to say “whatsup,” and noodle his tail on my tires. I saw him about 10 feet behind my car, where he sat on the curb and looked at me.
I got back in the car and went to the store, and as I’m approaching that same corner on my way back, there’s Hotdog. Sitting in the exact same spot. The minute I saw him (or he, me), he turned on a dime and started sprinting towards our house because after all, Daddy’s home.
Hot Dog loves his daddy. He’s always waiting near the carport to say “hello” when Chris gets home.
It's lonely here, please leave a comment
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