She was on her leash and I was the Grill Master.
That's when Jackson and his owner, Holly, walked by and wanted to play. Joyful with the air, I said, "Come on, Jackson. Glamis can play."
And the two played. And they chased each other. And they had a great time.
And Bryan flew through the air when Glamis went after Jackson at 100 mph, still on the leash, around my right leg, and outwards again. It was like a lasso that grabbed this bovine and tackled him to the arena in record time. I cleaned it up before it created a bruise that makes it look like I've tattooed my shin.
My bad. That's what happens when leashed dogs are allowed to be in a ballet of play that turns into the Super Bowl. I learned my lesson.
TGIF. A school, a meeting, and then Metro North to NYC for the #BeFree Writing Our Lives event at Leadership and Public Service High School in Manhattan on Saturday. Uniting CT and Syracuse voices, finally and at last.
And probably bringing peroxide.