While Ms. Who was out of town visiting my mom, our dog, Rusko the Wonder Dog, a pup picked up by Animal Control with at least 6 bazilion breeds within him as he ran the streets of South Bend's West Side with his brother, lousy with fleas & worms and visible ribs, but now my boon companion and inquisitive soul
he wakes me up with his deepest, most measured and deliberate, Bull Mastiff-y ... WOOF ... pregnant pause ... WOOF. This is his deadly serious warning bark, utterly distinct from his follow me I'm about to catch this rabbit yip, his let's play tug of war bark, his i'm ready to come back in the house bark, his best friend and vixen Bramble the German Short Haired Terrier is being walked on the sidewalk in front of our house quivering wimper bark.
He's given his Bull Mastiff-y bark precisely 3 times previous:
as a 5-month-old pup upon espying my next door neighbor, the retired History Dept. chair at IUSB, on his hands and knees behind a shrub doing some weeding along our fence line;
upon responding, still as a pup, maybe 6-7 months old, to a large man of saggy pants and hostile demeanor departing his friends on the corner to approach and tell me to "lend" him my cell phone so he could make a call, responding of course by saying WOOF with accompanying West Point cadet K-9 stare and ruffled neck fur that caused the big M-F to add the codicil "shit fuck, just asking, man," all to the evident amusement of his friends, to whom i had the distinct impression, he had just lost a wager;
upon espying the bizarre gesticulating inflatable thing that flaps around with vaguely humanoid motions at the entrance to my local car wash.
But my point is, when he once again reached deep and pulled from his convoluted prehistoric DNA this highly rare guard-dog bark, the fourth such bark of his life that I know of, I knew something was up, and in fact there was, as it eventually led me to the least dramatic crime scene I have ever imagined:
Yes, some asshole, the cops and i think it's punk kids as opposed to the unrelated adult gang that's been busting into my neighbors' houses and discharging hand guns in the quest for jewelry and silverware, these other assholes, have been breaking into garages and rifling through cars, throwing all the contents of the glove compartment as far as they can fling with their skinny little bony hands. These garage-theft assholes are just kids. Of course why they would be carrying around a short-handled sledge hammer and leave it in the trunk of my Bitoosh (the name accorded my Honda when my brother in law's elderly mother espied its previous license plate reading B2SH etc. and proclaimed in all seriousness, "Oh you've got a Bitoosh!" thinking it was the car model name) when startled by the WOOF ... WOOF of Rusko the Wonder Dog could give one pause. But eh. I'm sure the young asshole was just an excitable boy.
Ooh wah ooh.
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