Shots Fired!

***Amazingly, she probably can't yet feel snow collecting on her; January 3, 2009***

On December 14, 1995, Bernie survived a shooting. Elizabeth was Christmas shopping in Reno, and Bernie, Poochie, and I were watching a Toronto Maple Leafs v. San Jose Sharks hockey game in my bedroom, waiting for ER to come on--because dogs love medical dramas.

Poochie's ears perked up, Bernie and I heard nothing, but I opened my ears a bit. Then all three of us heard a faint knock, knock, knock at the door. Figuring it was just Elizabeth and the door was locked, Poochie and I followed a barking-mad Bernie to the front door. Through the door's glass, I could see a young man. Oh, I thought, wrong house or something. I acknowledged the lad with a head lift--you know, how the cool kids greet each other--and he just stood there. The dogs were barking, I was cold, and dude was just standing there looking stupid when a buddy peered around his backside. "Can I help you?" I said. He was gazing over and around me, then quickly and heavily launched his shoulder into the door. Oh my. My eyes went to the lock, and the door was locked but not bolted, but it held. Tough guy was rattling and pushing on the door knob, and I expertly gathered that I was in the midst of a tough situation. What to do? There were two of them, one of me; that was the only door to the house; the windows opened only wide enough to slide a toddler through, at best; and I had lent my .357 magnum to a buddy who was playing in a mean card game that night. Just kidding. I turned, headed toward my room to call the fuzz, thinking that, well, Bernie would tear the hell out of them if they got . . . then I heard glass break, a breeze over my head. I turned around to see the muzzle of a gun and a bullet hole in the door's glass. Poochie and I made it into the bedroom, Bernie barking, jumping on the door, going nuts eagerly begging for super-stud and his bud to break down that door so she could take care of some serious business.

Long story short, they left and nobody got shot, though the breeze I felt over my head was a slug from a semi-automatic .22 pistol. Bernie, as well as I and Poochie, had dodged a bullet.

I stopped in the vet this evening to score a bottle of one-a-day multivitamins for the pooch. Bernie gobbled one right up, which is good. There are 180 tablets in the bottle. I guess you could say I wonder just how empty Bernie and I can get that bottle at one a day, if you know what I'm sayin'.

To close, picture the smile on my face today when I pulled into the driveway from work and saw my little black dog's face peering out at me through her fancy-schmancy full-view door. Priceless.