The Horse
I expected to be at work very late tonight, so I told Mama Dog not to hold dinner for me. I ended up getting finished sooner than expected, barely after six, so I called to see what was what. Mama Dog, Baby Dog, and Halmonie were having a night on the town. They were already seated for supper, at The Horse. It seemed unlikely that I could get there before the meal was well along, but I said I’d call when I got to West Oakland and see what stage they were at.
By the time I was out of the tube, they were already done eating, but by my estimation I was only about ten minutes away – five minutes of BART to 12th Street, and then a five minute walk to the restaurant. I asked Mama Dog to order me some lemongrass chicken to go. I made it there almost exactly in the predicted ten minutes. My lemongrass had already arrived and they were waiting for the cheque. Baby Dog was happily reading Go, Dog. Go! at the table. Have you ever noticed it’s punctuated that way? I always thought it was “Go, Dog, Go!” It’s not.
On the way out, Baby Dog started chattering about horsies. I looked up and saw a huge painting of wild horses looking over us. The place really goes with the equine theme. Near the front door there’s a not-quite-life-sized statue of a horse. I let Baby Dog pet its cold hard mane. Halmonie beckoned, patting the horse’s back. “You can sit on it!” she said to Baby Dog. She was so insistent that I started to hoist Baby Dog onto the horse’s back – but then saw the large sign on the wall next to it, reading “PLEASE DON’T SIT ON THE HORSE.” Well, she’s only twenty-some pounds, but I’m Canadian and a sign’s a sign. We had a laugh and went on our merry way.
By the time I was out of the tube, they were already done eating, but by my estimation I was only about ten minutes away – five minutes of BART to 12th Street, and then a five minute walk to the restaurant. I asked Mama Dog to order me some lemongrass chicken to go. I made it there almost exactly in the predicted ten minutes. My lemongrass had already arrived and they were waiting for the cheque. Baby Dog was happily reading Go, Dog. Go! at the table. Have you ever noticed it’s punctuated that way? I always thought it was “Go, Dog, Go!” It’s not.
On the way out, Baby Dog started chattering about horsies. I looked up and saw a huge painting of wild horses looking over us. The place really goes with the equine theme. Near the front door there’s a not-quite-life-sized statue of a horse. I let Baby Dog pet its cold hard mane. Halmonie beckoned, patting the horse’s back. “You can sit on it!” she said to Baby Dog. She was so insistent that I started to hoist Baby Dog onto the horse’s back – but then saw the large sign on the wall next to it, reading “PLEASE DON’T SIT ON THE HORSE.” Well, she’s only twenty-some pounds, but I’m Canadian and a sign’s a sign. We had a laugh and went on our merry way.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:16 PM
1 Comments:
I'm going to remember that. "I AM CANADIAN AND A SIGN'S A SIGN" I cross the street - at the intersection - when the green light (with the white hand)is showing - even at 5 am with not a soul in sight. We Canadians are very good at rules - politeness and rules.
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