You Got a License For That Tongue?

We were having coffee outside, and I was deadheading some flowers, when all of a sudden there was barking and pitiful yelping and a man shouting out front; I ran down the driveway to see this massive canine making a mouthful of a tiny dachshund. Armed with pruning shears, I ran over to help the guy, (my neighbor Mr. P) who also had another small dog on a leash. The dachshund got away, and I grabbed its leash and brought it into my garage, while Ken got hold of the big dog, who turned out to be a gigantic, slobbering sweetheart. The little dog seemed fine, (if half-drowned in drool) so Mr. P loaned us a leash, and Ken secured Cujo to the front railing. I set him up with water and some dry cat food, and the big softie ate and drank and sat on the steps whimpering like a three-year-old lost in the mall. I walked up and down the block showing his photo (thank you digital camera) to the neighbors, and was able to return the dog to its owner, who lived just a few houses away from the canines he'd terrorized.

Then, two sheriff's deputies in an unmarked vehicle stopped to ask if everything was all right; it seems they'd been on my block, serving a warrant on a house five doors down from me. What?! Um...yeah, one of the houses I'd knocked at, but had gotten no answer from. (Whew!)

The little dog is getting checked out by the vet, but he seemed uninjured and I don't anticipate any problems. On the bright side, I met a couple new doggies. The dachshund, Hunter, is an absolute doll, and that gentle, drooly giant above is Beamish. (On the dark side, what was that warrant for? Who are those neighbors? Should I worry?)

All's well that ends well, but that's enough excitement for one day, thanks.