My wife Gayla just got a dog. She asked me before she did. I said, “yes.” I have found over the years that our marriage just seems to work better when I say “yes.”

Unless, of course, she asks one of those trick questions with a negative in it. For example, “You don’t mind if I get a dog, do you?” A “yes” answer just doesn’t work well here. This requires a negative response like “no” or if you are feeling verbose: “No, I don’t mind if you get a dog.”

So, we got a dog.

Some folks who know Gayla got a dog have asked me what kind of dog Gayla got. I have told them that I thought it was a Worcestershire or maybe a Worcestershirelabradoodle. (It seems to me that almost every dog these days has some labrador and some poodle in it. That seems to me to be a waste of labrador, but no one has asked my opinion about such things).

I guess by now you have figured out I don’t know what kind of dog it is. Not a clue. I would come more near knowing the Pythagorean theory or quantum physics or the like.

I know the solution to this is to simply ask Gayla what kind of dog she has. But that makes me more than somewhat nervous. I know she could tell me. She has already told me at least once.

And I am quite sure if I asked her again what kind of dog she has, she would probably take the conversation in one of two directions. One, “You never listen to me.” To which I would reply, “Darlin’, I always listen to you.” You might think my calling her darlin’ would endear her to me, but I think she is on to that one. The other direction she might take the conversation would start with something like: “You have got to get some hearing aids.” By the way, saying “Huh?” in response to the hearing aid thing is seldom received well. So, I could possibly be wrong in thinking Gayla’s new dog is
a Worcestershire.

But here’s something I am not wrong about. This dog is part “mobster.” I am not sure what all the weapons he has on him, but I am convinced he carries a switchblade. For the life of me, I haven’t been able to locate it. I just know if there is a minor ruckus that starts, it won’t be long before I am going to be bleeding from multiple cuts and stab wounds before I ever see the knife. I’ve seen cats that couldn’t slice and dice like this dog. Worcestershires are notorious for unfair fighting.

The first time this dog attacked me, I asked Gayla for help. I swallowed quite a bit of man pride before I did that, but I asked. After all, it was going to be difficult to explain how a two-month-old dog chewed my arm smooth off. I’m pretty sure that Gayla was convinced I was responsible for the knife fight, the cuts, and the blood spillage which, by the way, was damage done only to me.

The dog seemed more than happy about the damage he had done and appeared more than ready to continue. The rascal didn’t have a mark on him that I could see. Gayla seemed more concerned about her dog than she did with making a decision about whether I needed to get medical attention. I wasn’t much help in making that decision, either. I’m pretty sure I was getting a little light-headed probably because of the blood loss I incurred from the knife fight.

Here are a couple of things you should consider. One, be careful about hanging out with mobsters, regardless of what form they come in. The Bible says something about fleeing evil company. Two, keep the phone nearby to dial 911 when needed. You never know when an emergency could happen or what form it could come in. Three, dogs are cute until they are not.

Come to think of it, that’s basically what Gayla said about me.