One
minute I'm having a perfectly civilized conversation with a client
and the next I'm in the middle of the apocalypse. A woman with a
chubby little weiner dog on a leash has actually dared walk down
the sidewalk in front of the house and all four dogs go mad and
mindless, overturning furniture, charging panic-stricken at the doors
and windows, furiously tearing down the curtains and barking as if
the end of the world is on their doorstep. The poor – and until
this point, unsuspecting - telephone repairman innocently at work in
the other room cowers behind Michael's desk. He's brandishing an industrial
sized flashlight protectively in front of him and his eyes are
as big as saucers.
Don't
panic! I shout at him as I pass,
It won't last long!
He
doesn't look reassured so I backtrack and shut the connecting door
before heading down the hall to break up the riot. At first, it's a
little like wading into a swamp of defiant alligators but once the
little weiner dog is out of sight, the dust settles and with another
deadly threat neutralized, all four dogs crowd around me looking
proud and self-satisfied. I herd the two little ones and the old pit
upstairs, right and re-attach the crashed gate, and then lead the cur
dog back into my office. It's several more minutes before I remember
the telephone repairman and by the time I give him the all clear,
he's aged a bit.
Does
that happen often? he wants to
know, peering out at me apprehensively.
It
sounds worse than it is, I tell
him and shrug, You get used to it.
He
shudders and shakes his head, nervously re-attaches the flashlight to
his toolbelt and after several over the shoulder backward glances,
resumes his inspection of the junction box. I have the distinct
feeling this minor brush with the dark side has made him anxious to
finish and make his escape and I can't say as I blame him. I often
have the very same feelings.
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