I took a walk this Sunday morning around my old neighborhood. Birds were chirping. A slight, cool breeze could be felt, and the whole place just seemed somewhat, and oddly enough, natural.
The sky was beautiful, and the air was slightly misty and cool. As I turned the corner eastward, toward Randolph Air Force Base, a pair of dogs charged the fence toward me, snarling and growling at the potential intruder.
But I was perfectly calm. Not even a bit frightened, or nervous. I walked up toward them with amusement in my face, knowing fully well they were capable of doing some damage to my digits. I reached my hand out to them, because I felt, and knew for some reason, that they would not harm me. And sure enough, they simply wanted to make friends - now, they kept barking, and snarling and generally sounding like they wanted to rip me apart. But they didn't so much as snap at me. You know this is true because I am able to type this, and I assure you, I am not typing with my feet.
Inside every junkyard dog lives the spirit of a puppy, who wants to play and be friends with everyone he meets. Even if it is now his job to scare the daylights out of everyone who dares to approach their fences.
I wouldn't reccomend just offering your hand to any old dog, though.
The sky was beautiful, and the air was slightly misty and cool. As I turned the corner eastward, toward Randolph Air Force Base, a pair of dogs charged the fence toward me, snarling and growling at the potential intruder.
But I was perfectly calm. Not even a bit frightened, or nervous. I walked up toward them with amusement in my face, knowing fully well they were capable of doing some damage to my digits. I reached my hand out to them, because I felt, and knew for some reason, that they would not harm me. And sure enough, they simply wanted to make friends - now, they kept barking, and snarling and generally sounding like they wanted to rip me apart. But they didn't so much as snap at me. You know this is true because I am able to type this, and I assure you, I am not typing with my feet.
Inside every junkyard dog lives the spirit of a puppy, who wants to play and be friends with everyone he meets. Even if it is now his job to scare the daylights out of everyone who dares to approach their fences.
I wouldn't reccomend just offering your hand to any old dog, though.
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