It’s time to re-blog this:

     A friend once asked me, “Why in the world would anyone have a Bull Terrier?”  This she’d inquired while observing me take evasive action to protect myself from doggy damage.  Her face showed she could tell this was a common occurrence and that she found it a tad unnerving. 

     My Bull Terrier, Malcolm, took another shot at disaster before I answered.  He held a large bone, poised in his mouth like a baseball bat, and barely missed taking out my shin.  I unconsciously stepped out-of-the-way of sixty-five pounds of armed, muscled freight train on a ‘bully run’.

     “Hey, Bull Terriers may be a bit bizarre, but we’re kindred spirits.”

     She emphatically nodded in agreement.  “Yes, you’re two of a kind.”

     “Besides, life would be dull without Malcolm’s antics and wit,” I added.

     She shook her head.  “I couldn’t do it.”

     I could tell she thought it was only a matter of time before the men in the white coats came to take me away, and that she was glad to be standing outside of my fenced yard. 

     I felt it was important to show her that Malcolm wasn’t so bad, so I called him  to me.  Of course, he decided at that moment to go selectively deaf.  About the third call, he raced over and sat at my side looking angelic. 

     Malcolm is obedience trained, and I began to put him through his paces off lead.

     “Heel.”  He did a perfect job.  “Stand.”  Again, he was flawless.  I even added some of his tricks to the demonstration. 

     “Now, give me your paw,” I told him.

     He sat and held his paw up for me to shake.

     “Bang.”  He dropped to the ground, rolled over on his back, and played dead.  “Sit.  Stay.”  He jumped to his feet, then sat and remained motionless.

     My friend watched with great interest and surprise, exclaiming, “But only a minute ago he was crazy.” 

     I told her, “no, just being silly and blowing off steam.” 

     After a short down, I released him and he went tearing around the yard again.  My friend felt less sure of my ‘insanity’ until I had to sidestep a four-foot long stick Malcolm had found in the hedge.  Then I tripped over the tennis ball he’d strategically placed behind me and landed neatly on my backside.

     “Booby-trapped,” I muttered.

     “I’ll visit you in the hospital.”

     She never was a dog person.