Walking the Dogs
There is an small old man that lives in a nearby apartment building. Several times he has come up to me as I walked my dogs to tell me his one story about dachshunds. His mother used to have a dachshund, he has repeatedly said. One day a pack of wild dogs came after her and she grabbed her dog. The wild dogs pulled it from her arms and then ripped the poor dachshund apart. Killed it. Dead.
"Isn't that awful?" he would ask.
Yeah, it's a horrible story but this tiny man insists on telling me it every time. I try to avoid him now whenever I walk my dogs.
"Isn't that awful?" he would ask.
Yeah, it's a horrible story but this tiny man insists on telling me it every time. I try to avoid him now whenever I walk my dogs.