You're going to have to wait another day for my latest post. Strangely, this is not due to my extreme fatigue (Jesus, this weekend was rough. Sunrise Service= Never, ever again.) or lack of work ethic. Rather, it is due to the extended lunch break that I was forced to take this afternoon. Let me be clear when I say that this lunchbreak was neither planned nor appreciated. In fact, the last hour has been a rather stressful one for yours truly. Basically, as I was finishing up lunch I received a semi-frantic phone call from a friend of mine (whose uncle happens to be my landlord/next door neighbor) telling me that my dog had gotten loose. While these events would be bothersome to most any dog owner, these feelings are further amplified by the fact that my dog is a Pit Bull. As I've explained in this space before, my dog is an enormous pussy. He whines more than your average three years old, sleeps under the covers (regardless of if I'm sleeping or not), and (as you've seen before) is afraid of the flash on my camera. To put it simply, he is not an animal that should be feared. However, his appearance doesn't lead strangers to this conclusion. The sight of my 70+ lb. Pit Bull running the streets unleashed generally evokes reactions similar to what you'd see if Milton Bradley and Carl Everett ever went charging into the stands in a tag team fashion (see: running, screaming).
As I drove towards my house, a million scenarios were running through my head. Some of these included, my dog being hit by a car (I live just off A1A), my dog being snatched up by Animal Control and my dog sinking his teeth into the head of some wayward four year old (this IS the south, you're kidding yourself if you don't think I see shoeless toddlers walking the streets on a weekly basis). Thankfully, none of these scenarios played out. Actually, I'm not completely sure about the last one but I didn't notice any blood on him when I finally got home. This much I do know:
My landlord left his front door open and Tinsley strolled in the front door approximatley five minutes before I arrived home. I walked into my landlord's house to find my dog panting heavily while staring at me in a way that suggested he'd just been out doing his daily workout (read: impregnating local muts). Fucking bastard. After apologizing to my landlord and refusing his offer for a hit of his joint (he's an entirely different posts worth of material), I figured that I ought to make my way back to work. So here I am. I'll be back tomorrow.