Fear Pooping

Tails of a Pit Bull turned the ripe old age of 1 on Friday. That was the one-year anniversary of The Catalyst - the day Dasher and I went to get his shots for the first time in Tennessee. In celebration, we went again today. Okay, we went mostly because he was due for shots again. Listen to what happened this time.

I sit down to wait for Dasher's name to be called next to a man with a tiny, furball, Pomeranian-type creature in his lap. The man on the other side of him has an energetic Beagle-y mix that sits anytime she hears anyone near her say anything that remotely sounds like "sit" but believes the command is good only for a bottom-hit-the-floor move and nothing more. Once the task is complete, she's back up and sniffing butts.

Beagle-Owner, to me: "Does he have a lil' pitbull in him?"

Me: "I think he has a lotta pitbull in him."

(Everyone chuckles.)

Guy next to me, to the furball: "See that guy, Sugar? You'd be a midnight snack for him!"

Me: "Oh, no, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

(Uncomfortable laugther.)

Then I remember that one of Dasher's most beloved pastimes is hunting flies.

Dasher, right, with his best bud Gracie

And you can bet your bottom dollar Dasher fear-pooped once again!