It was a rare sunny afternoon in early December, just after Mike returned from Arizona, and he was doing a little garden cleanup in the back yard while I was sitting in my bed by the front door. Suddenly I heard Mike shout an expletive that I will not repeat here, loud enough that I could hear it all the way on the other side of the house. Come on, Mike, I thought, what if there were kids around? Whatever could be his problem?
Then Mike stomped into the front of the house, garden clippers in one hand, the plug and cord from his headphones in the other. The headphones still covered his ears, thankfully preventing the steam from coming out. In an instant, Mike had severed a wilting fern and the headphones’ cord in a single swipe. Nice going, Mike.
Heather wasn’t home at the time. So I figured to myself, how much would it be worth to Mike to keep me quiet about his latest embarrassment (one of many, I would be forced to point out). Could I wrangle extra PBBs or maybe a double rawhide or six-inch bully stick out of this?
Good idea, bad execution. I held any disclosure of Mike’s buffoonery back a week, but all Mike came across with in the way of extra stuff was this lousy collection of plates he put down for me one night after dinner. A smorgasbord of treats, he called it. Are you kidding me? I licked them clean, out course, but I thought I deserved a little more in the way of meat and potatoes, if you know what I mean.
So I decided Mike’s little secret wasn’t worth keeping after all. I just hope this doesn’t hurt my chances for getting a really, really good present for Christmas.