A Dog Named Bob

So there I was, walking down the street with my basset hound named Bob, minding my own business as I’m wont to do.  Out of nowhere, someone hurled a plate of waffles and maple syrup at me from a porch right near to where I was walking, and I ducked in time to see it bounce off the mailbox and clatter to the ground.  I naturally start yelling and screaming at them, demanding to know just what the hell they were thinking and who goes around throwing breakfast food at people anyway?  The irate neighbor storms off the porch, striding rather forcefully down the sidewalk to the chain link fence that separated their property from the sidewalk, and proceeded to bitch me out for several minutes, much to my confusion.  I was just walking my dog!  I didn’t know basset hounds named Bob were verboten, but apparently in this neck o’ the woods, they were.  A bluejay was sitting in a tree alongside where I was standing, tweeting and singing and doing whatever it is that bluejays do, but he soon got tired of listening to this angry, horrible man yelling and screaming and flew away.  Before he did though, he pooped on the guy’s head, which made him turn his ire from me and my faithful hound to the bluejay now tweeting in a tree far, far away.  I heard him yell something about a lawsuit and all the ink in China, but as me and Bob were hotfooting it away from there, I didn’t catch everything.  That was probably a good thing, that guy was nuts.

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