On yet another cold and raw day, the dog was whining for me to take him out...immediately. I like to bribe him with cookies to wait until Darling Husband gets home, but even peanut butter treats were not an alluring compromise to his bladder.
Bundled up as much as possible, I dragged him from yard to yard amazed as always how much pee he can target for certain shrubs.
Anyway, partly through the jaunt, a trash truck sidled up. The man hanging off the back was wearing a ski mask and looked like he was about to rob a bank. I could hear him yelling in my direction as I yanked the dog away faster. ( I was in no mood to be hit on by someone who had an old banana peel stuck to their pants).
He chased us and panting, said he had a biscuit for the dog. "It helps them not be scared of the trucks," he explained. Since my dog had not even glanced at the truck never the less acted afraid of it, I hesitated. But he waved the cookie in the dog's face, and produced several more as I shivered in the freezing rain.
That was two days ago. Now thank to Trash Man and his Scaredy Dog Biscuits, the damn pooch runs after every truck that goes by barking for more.
Damn you Pavlov, Damn you.
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