Slowly he trod over the barren sand, in search of his prey. His finely tuned instincts born from centuries of breeding at full-force. He was a German Shorthair Pointer by God. The world's greatest gun-dog with his sense of sight and smell perfectly entwined.
Suddenly his body tensed as he sighted the prey, there on the other side of the fence . . .a bee!
His human slowly aimed the shotgun . . .
"Wait just one minute!"
I turned from the keyboard and looked down to see my trusty Boopy sitting and staring at the words on the screen.
"I didn't mind when you made fun of Buddy and his "ninja" moves and his shortstop skills, but now you make fun of me? Make fun of my ancestry and hunting skills?"
"I didn't know you could read Boopy," I stammered in reply.
"There's a lot you don't know, Bozo. You've messed with Buddy so much he's hired himself an agent and is trying to make it in martial arts films. He's even talked to Chuck Norris."
"Wow, I didn't know."
"How could you, you spend all your waking hours shut up in this house screwing around on Gather and playing fantasy baseball. When are you going to get a life."
"Now, wait a minute . . ."
"Like hell, I will. You stay here, day after day, week after week . . ."
"I knew it! You do have a calendar. I think you have a watch too!"
"Surprise, surprise, Bozo! Like I said, you are always here. We, quite frankly, are bored as hell with you."
"You tell him!" Buddy cheered from the hallway.
"I don't think …"
"You're damn right you don't. Go out, meet some people, bring some people here. Meet a woman, for Chrissakes, we miss mom. Women smell better than you do."
"But . . ."
"No buts about it, turn off the computer and live some kind of life. But give me a chewey before you go."