Now in driver's ed they never taught us the protocol for pulling over while walking. Was I supposed to raise my hands in the air like on tv, or what? Does a 90 pound albino Doberman count as a concealed weapon?
And what the hell could the police want with me, anyhow? Come on, dude, I was thinking, no way am I walking over the speed limit, so what, one of my tail lights is out?
Officer Cop rolled down his window and beckoned me over to the squad car. "That's a nice looking dog you've got there, ma'am," he said. "Is he aggressive?"
Ah ha, I get it, he's profiling me: little old white-haired granny, wearing hot pink Chuck Taylors and thick nerdy glasses, bopping along the sidewalk diligently obeying the leash laws while humming Take A Chance On Me? Yup, odds are clearly pretty damn high she's running an illegal vicious dog fighting ring out back behind her petunia bed.
"Oh, no sir, Mr. Officer," I assured him. "He's a real sweetheart, just a great big lovable goofy ol' puppy." Unless you happen to be a cat. Or move one more inch in my direction, you fool, which I really really wouldn't advise. "I take him to obedience classes down at the PetSmart every week!" I blathered on, straining to radiate innocence from every pore. "He's learning to obey and do tricks and he's always on a leash and he has his rabies tag and I'm carrying a poop bag and see? see? See what a good responsible dog owner I am?"
But the cop had stopped listening and was peering at something in his back seat, which I couldn't see through the black tinted windows. "Whaddaya think, Stella?" he asked. Stella didn't answer. "I'm surprised she isn't trying to kill your dog," the cop said to me. "Stella is usually VERY aggressive."
And then it dawned on me, duh: Stella wasn't some belligerent passed out drunk he was hauling in to the station; this was the official Deep Inferno K-9 Unit! And Officer Cop didn't want to lecture me on the dangers of owning an aggressive breed; he just wanted to talk dog shop with me. And possibly find out whether my four-legged penile extension was meaner and scarier than his.
So great, we chatted dog talk for a bit, the cop car blocking the middle of the street with his light still flashing so all my neighbors could peer through their curtains and speculate as to why the heck that weird old lady who just moved into the little shack on the corner was being arrested for walking the streets at dusk. Meanwhile Superman sat obediently at my side, calmly studying cracks in the sidewalk.
"I just don't get why Stella isn't barking at him," the cop said again. And I guess his curiosity finally got the better of him, because he hit a little button on his dashboard that lowered the rear window.
Well cheezis. Thank the everfucking Universe there was a wire mesh screen. Because Stella (aka Cujoella) took one look at Superman and started hurling her ferocious deranged snapping snarling barking foaming German Shepherd self against it with full force, over and over again, her blazing red eyes fixed on his jugular as flames shot out through her nostrils.
Superman took one look at Stella and peed all over his own feet.
Oh well, I guess this means we probably lost the Biggest Penis in Deep Inferno contest? Rats.
"Hey, nice talking to you!" said Officer Macho with a smug grin as he put his cruiser into gear.
"Right," I said cradling my trembling whimpering 90 pound baby who was desperately trying to crawl up onto my shoulders. "We'll have to get the pups together for a play date real soon."
Poor Soopy. When we got home he did his very best to make up for his embarrassing little lapse in protective duty. He spent twenty whole minutes following a big black carpenter ant back and forth across the back porch, bravely barking his head off at it, staunchly defending Miss Lady and the Beloved Homestead.
My big sweet hero! I don't know what I'd ever do without him.
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