Even someone as happy-go-lucky as I am has to admit it’s been pretty bleak around here lately. The days are short enough at this time of year; when it’s raining or heavily overcast, it doesn’t get light until after 7, and it’s dark long before 5. Truth be told, I’ve been getting a bit stir crazy during the day. There’s a lot of energy bottled up in this little puppy body.
But the other afternoon the sun came out, the wind died down, and it got downright pleasant for a few hours. I could even sniff a hint of the tropics in the air–and I’m not talking Pineapple Express rain, neither. Just a brief, vague promise of spring.
Anyway, I bugged Mike until he had to get up from his damn computer and take me outside for a brief saunter down the block. As my butt wiggled along the sidewalk, I spied Kyle, our new mailman, coming our way. The guy seems nice enough, sometimes he even stops to pet me. But he obviously missed the mailman memo about bestowing treats along with the junk mail. I’m pretty certain by now that Kyle’s not coming across with anything to eat anytime soon, if ever. Some kind of health-nut calorie-counter, I suspect. I say that because this guy wears shorts on his mail route, every day. Mike’s in long underwear, and this guy’s wearing shorts.
Kyle had no sooner had passed us when a more promising target approached: the big, brown, rolling box that often delivers smaller boxes to many of the houses on our block. Once in a while it even stops at our house, and that’s how I met the nice man who drives it. When I sat in front of the house all summer, he was always stopping, saying hi and leaving me with a nice BIG Milk Bone. Not one of the tiny ones like Mike passes off as treats. BIG ones. And I didn’t even have to work for it, he just laid it down in front of me. On a silver platter, so to speak.
So I went into high-speed wiggling as soon as I saw the big brown truck come up the street towards us, but then it stopped, and a different guy jumped out and ran a package up to the neighbor’s front door. Damn! I thought. I’m going to be passed by for a treat again.
Then the truck pulled away from the curb, and I saw that the runner wasn’t the driver, but a second guy standing on the passenger’s side. Behind the wheel was my buddy, who then steered that big whale of a truck right over to where Mike and I were standing on our side of the street. When he got close to the curb, he chucked one of those huge Milk Bones out the window, and it landed on the ground about six inches from my nose. Needless to say, it didn’t stay there long.
To me, this incident clearly illustrates why the U.S. Postal Service loses billions of dollars every year while United Parcel Service thrives. I don’t know what UPS is doing for you, but it’s pretty clear what brown does for me.