Writing in my journal.
“Is he a Ridgeback?”, she asks.
I look up at her,
and to her three well groomed Ridgebacks.
I say, “No, Bull Mastiff”.
“Oh, he looks just like a Ridgeback”.
I say, “No, Bull Mastiff”.
“Oh, he looks just like a Ridgeback”.
She clearly wants to talk about Ridgebacks.
“Well, that’s because Ridgebacks get their coloring from the Bull Mastiff”
“No, they are bred from English Mastiff”.
I look at her with an expression.
My thoughts must have shown quite clearly.
I say, referring to Bruno, “That would explain why he looks just like them then”.
She pauses, and scowls, and then declares,
She pauses, and scowls, and then declares,
“I’ve had Ridgebacks for 25 years.”
I hold her stare, “I’ve had Bruno for 10”.
She gets visibly agitated.
She gets visibly agitated.
She points to one of her dogs proclaiming, “This one was going to be a show dog...
but he was too small”.
I stare at her, not unkindly.
I stare at her, not unkindly.
She takes her dogs and walks away.
I return to my journal.
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