Me n' Lucky

Sooooo...my ‘cross the street neighbor gets herself a dog. His name is “Lucky.” I’m not sure if he’s purebred. Prolly just a puppy mill dawg.

Anyways, my neighbor’s got a young pup and I gots me a “crush of a lifetime.” Oh, yeah, Lucky stole my heart from the gitgo (just after he whizzed all over my feet).

Yes. It’s true. Lucky tends to pee hisself when meeting new friends. My shoes can attest to that.

Anyways, my neighbor has a young pup and Lucky is his name.

My neighbor is OK by me. She’s a hard-working gal, a Nubian princess, a single-mom-survivor. She gets by. She does right. I help her with clogged drains and a few car repairs. But she ties Lucky to a porch post most days when she goes to work.

Now, Lucky, you see, has more energy than a nuclear reactor. Lucky wails, whimpers, cries, barks and...whizzes hisself.

And, me? Well, it’s spring, you see. My windows remain flung open. Lucky’s caterwauls reverberate throughout my humble domicile.

Sooooo...I gather up bits o’ chicken. Buy a box o’ doggie treats. And I go outside to sit cross-legged with Lucky (avoiding puddles and piles as best I can). And Lucky? Well, Lucky pees hisself and does what puppies do: rolls on his back for belly rubs. Licks whatever comes near tongue-range. Lucky is nothing if not exuberant in his affections.

And so it begins: belly rubs, chin scratches, rib ticklin’s and snoot kissin’s. Then comes a bit o’ larnin.’ “Sit, Lucky.” Complete befuddlement. “Sit, Lucky.” A bit o’ chicken held high enough above, high and far enough above so that Lucky must settle on haunches to reach the treat.

Lucky’s a smart pooch. He caught the game right on. “Sit, Lucky.” Lucky sits. Then come belly rubs and snoot scratches aplenty.

Lucky now knows how to “sit.” Mebbe next week I’ll larn him not to wee on me.

Me n’ Lucky got a thing goin’ on.

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