It's always the little ones

Yesterday Mom and I went back to the Blue Hills and followed our customary walk around Houghton's Pond. A dusting of snow on Sunday made it a lot less slippery for poor Mom! Anyway, we'd gone maybe a third of the way around the pond when we met a tall, thin man and his little dog. I'm not sure what kind of dog it was, but it kind of looked like a little imp. Maybe it was a French bulldog? It was smaller than my head, whatever the little demon doggie might have been. At any rate, the little critter was snarling, hissing spitting, straining at the leash and making this horrible sound that might have been a growl and might have been the Beasts of the Pit trying to emerge and steal my soul. I didn't care. I showed it that I wanted to play, but its person just picked it up. "This one is very poorly socialized," he told my mom. Yeah, you think? A little later we met another dog. This one was very big, maybe a Boxer or Boxer cross, and was brindled with a bobbed tail. It hid behind its mom and did not bark.

So I didn't meet any new four-legged friends, but I did meet some two legged friends. A man was walking his two nephews in the park, and they were very young and very happy to see me. They liked dogs. They told me about their dog at home, who is an English Spaniel and barks "all the time." She also Does It on the floor. She does not sound like a very good dog.