Knick Knack

PADDY WHACK !

 

I kick madly. The little tan Pomeranian is nipping at my pants. He sinks his sharp teeth into the cuff and gives a pull, tearing off a surprisingly large piece of cloth. Still holding the dog's leash, smiling, thinking the dog's action amusing, I go into a rage at the leash holder. Maybe the kid is eighteen, maybe less. It doesn't matter. His attitude, uncaring about the damage his itsy- bitsy doggie did to my slacks has to be taken care of. I yank the leash out of his hands and order him to take all of us to his house to see his parents.

 

I've never met the Bardoffs who live a block away from me and am not happy doing so now. Mrs. Bardoff is a paraplegic. My attitude changes immediately. I tell her nothing about the damage done to my pants or her son's thinking it was cute.  As I stand in front of her in her wheelchair, I can't find a sensible reason for stopping by. Her son and the dog are not in sight. I utter nonsense. 'Mrs. Bardroff, I live near by and sometimes notice the grass in your front lawn needs cutting. I do that for other folks around here and make a few bucks. May I do yours once a week? I only charge $5 and clean up when I'm done.'

 

Surprise must light up my face and it bothers me. I am not a gardener, don't want to cut grass and be attacked again by that Pomeranian hellion who ruined my slacks. What have I gotten myself into? Mrs. Bardoff asks if I can do her lawn on Thursday mornings. Thinking fast, I lie and tell her I am busy all day Thursdays. She goes on. 'How about Tuesdays. 'I work for free in the park on Tuesdays.' 'That's very nice so then, Wednesday?' 'Sorry, my mom makes me work on our small lawn on Wednesday and she watches me like a hawk.' A hearty laugh comes from Mrs. Bardoff. Her broad grin makes me smile too. I extend my hand to her to thank her for even considering me but cringe when she can't move her hand at all.

 

As I start to walk to the door, I hear a low grr grr. The damn Pomeranian is off its leash and heading my way. Its little claws scratch thru my pants and make a small stream of blood show thru. I yell, 'Ow, ouch! The dog puts its head between his paws and plays dead in front of me. That strengthens my backbone and I tell Mrs. Bardoff what the dog did to my pants. She apologizes, offers me the dog as a pet because she can't stand that mutt. He pees on her wheel chair.

 

'That's okay,' Mrs. Bardoff says. 'Hey, Joseph, Mr. Big Shot, come in here!' Joseph, her son who let the dog nip me, comes in and with a sweet and innocent tone, asks, 'What do you want, Mother, Dear?' 'Joseph, you are an idiot. Don't even open it, just bring my red purse to me.' When he returns, she tells him to give me twenty five dollars, adds, loud and clear, 'and don't you take a single dollar for yourself.' Reluctantly I take it. Joseph is red in the face, boiling mad.

 

He leaves me and his mom staring at each other and returns, tightly holding a new leash on a pit bull pup.