The doorbell rings. It’s the meter-reader lady. I had completely forgotten! She comes the first of every month, and I usually ask JB to have Harley in the kennel at this time.
He normally *is* a friendly dog, but well, I have to admit, he looks like a mean dog. JB hasn’t put Harley’s collar back on since he gashed his neck a couple weeks ago, so I had nothing to hold onto. Harley is a big dog, and extremely hyper, so basically, I was getting pummeled out there. I have two huge gashes down the length of my arm, and my leg ain’t looking so hot either.
I tried to call JB about this, but he was out of the office, and as always, the secretaries have no clue how to get him. I worried about this when we got Harley as a puppy…I know boxers are supposedly friendly dogs, and supposedly they love kids. I’ve never seen Harley snap at my son, nephew, or the boy next door. But he has snapped at me more times than I can remember. When I was pregnant with my son, I refused to step foot in the backyard unless JB was home; simply put, I was afraid he’d cause me to fall again, and he was just a puppy then. Now, he’s a huge 50 pound hyper dog who apparently does not care much for me. Finally I was able to get back in the house and clean myself up.