Red Dot

Some dogs like to chase tennis balls, some sticks. Mine likes to chase a little red dot. At the dog park, I can park my butt on a bench and wave my laser pointer around for hours. She loves it.

“Stop that, unless you want pain,” ordered a voice from behind.


“My Bruce is an attack dog, trained to attack. You wave that red dot around, he sees a gun with laser sighting. He will attack.”

Bruce’s owner liked the word attack.

“Which one’s Bruce?”

He shook his head deliberately. “He’s hidden, and you’ll never see him coming.”



They say pets and their owners eventually become one. Like they start to look like each other or act the same way. Well, a buddy of mine has a puppy who won’t eat out of her bowl. She growls and sniffs the kibble and eventually chomps a mouthful of it and races out of the room, then hides under the dining table, spits it all out in a pile and eats it, bit by bit, until it’s gone. Then she runs back for more, chomps another mouthful, and does it all over again.

That’s how my buddy eats at buffets.