I'm So Regular You Could Shoot Me if You Knew What Time it Was

Most every night at 7:15, you will find Pepper and me in the middle of Palm Avenue. He will be looking one way, I the other, weighting our walking options. He with visions of dehydrated geckos and smashed tomatoes or perhaps a succulent piece of fresh shit, and me not wanting to have another evening of tug-of-war over crap on the sidewalk. If we take the alley walk there will be less likelihood of the yank and scold, but it's dark and I I'm not all that crazy about long narrow spaces on side roads. But the option...we compromise - up busy crappy Main to Lemon then take a right to the quiet clean State.

Along the way up Main we pass Max's Dog Bakery. Usually P. just cruises by, but tonight he stopped and looked into the dark store. At first I didn't see what he was looking at, but on the floor by the door there was a black plastic Scottie 'guard' dog looking back at us. Being a Jack Russell, P. isn't all that big, and this Scottie was about the size of big soup ladle, but Pepper got it in his head that this thing was a threat, and he started puffing himself up and making I'm bigger than you and won't take any shit noises.

The store is in one of the most congested parts of town, and in just a few seconds there was a crowd enjoying this little drama. I wish I could say something exciting happened like P. jumped through the plate glass door, chewed up the Scottie then jumped back out of the store without a scratch. But nothing like that happened; Pepper got bored and we left to more hopeful territory up the hill. As we walked I had a swell of satisfaction that I had been part of helping a group of people forget about themselves, if only for a few moments. I was full of love for Pepper, and knew I was going to give him a big treat when we got home.