I’m Not a Mule
The other day I was doing something I really like to do — shopping. In fact I was in a store, and with Mike’s help, trying on backpacks so I can be ready for the summer ahead and some backpacking trips. Then I spotted her — a lady who was staring at me. Had she never seen a gray ghost, alias Weimaraner, before, I wondered?
But, then, with the roar of a most inconsiderate hooman, she stated, “That dog is not a mule!” Well she gets credit for knowing there is a difference. She, however, gets low marks in the IQ column for telling Mike I should not be wearing the backpack he was purchasing. I should have growled then and there and foamed at the mouth while staring back at her.
I wanted that saddle bag backpack specifically designed for dogs because this summer on camping trips I plan to carry lots of treats. I have searched through many forests for the elusive treat trees Mike has told me about and have not found one. He often states I act as if treats grow on trees. I admit I eat several a day and must always have a treat, alias dessert, after each meal, har har!
Anyway I’ll just chalk that woman’s rude comments up to the fact that she probably does not have a dog, does not own dog treats and she’s lucky Mike was along to stop me from growling at her. How rude to interrupt me when I’m shopping. She may be a cousin to the mule, har har! I’m certain all dogs growl at her no matter where she goes.
But at least she can tell the difference between a dog and mule. And yes, Mike bought the backpacks for me. I like spending money — make that spending his money, har har! —Cameron the Weim
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