My next door neighbors have two female black labs who Elvis crushes on big time.
If there is any sign of life next door, he races over, impossible to detain, deter, or dissuade, hoping that he’ll get to see the girls – even if only for a moment.
Said neighbors are getting married this weekend and they have family in town which equates to lots of activity over there and lots of “Elvis, get back here.”
It’s already embarrassing, but tonight…
There’s a man outside, Elvis’ substantial ears perk up and he’s running before I can even open my mouth. So I hurry over, yelling, “I’m so sorry.”
I’m far enough behind to be useless if he tries to eat someone, but close enough to see him run up to the wine casket and pee on it.
“I’m really so sorry. My name is Sally. I’m the neighbor with the wretched dog.”
Then I call the dog and attempt a graceful and hasty retreat.
I look over my shoulder at the father of the bride to say a quick toodleloo and watch my dog vomit all over their patio.