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Fleabag and I waddled down to the shed yesterday morning to check for pidgeons. This time of year the boat (their favorite target) stays uncovered so it's time to pay the piper.

They flew, I shot, one died.

Fleabag held like a rock, not shaking with that "please. send. me. now" anticipation, but more of a "whenever you're ready, dumbass", indifference that I like about her. At my command, she unleashed hell, blasting a true line to the dead fowl. If she was one degree off, it was the downwind side, just for good measure. The rest was history, she came back and smugly placed at my feet the spent shotgun wad, then strolled off for her morning dump.

Some pictures would help your story-

I had a roofer coming over last night. He was late, and a dumb ass in general. I was not happy with his tardyness and lack of social skill grace, and let him know it. I think he was half ass scared as he parked in the driveway. As he approached me, Brandy bolted out behind the truck at a dead run.

The roofer viseably cringed as the brown torpedo bounded towards him. He basicly closed his eyes and waited for impact.
Brandy, as she has been trained to do, did not jump on him. She sat there and wagged her tail, waiting to be petted.

I was mad at the douche anyway, so I had a proud moment in dog ownership when my big, friendly dog scared a human for her first time....it happened to be one I wanted to see have some negative feelings.

bill herian wrote:Fleabag and I waddled down to the shed yesterday morning to check for pidgeons. This time of year the boat (their favorite target) stays uncovered so it's time to pay the piper.

They flew, I shot, one died.

Fleabag held like a rock, not shaking with that "please. send. me. now" anticipation, but more of a "whenever you're ready, dumbass", indifference that I like about her. At my command, she unleashed hell, blasting a true line to the dead fowl. If she was one degree off, it was the downwind side, just for good measure. The rest was history, she came back and smugly placed at my feet the spent shotgun wad, then strolled off for her morning dump.

Ha! Great story Bill

Post of the day

Redbeard wrote:

bill herian wrote:Fleabag and I waddled down to the shed yesterday morning to check for pidgeons. This time of year the boat (their favorite target) stays uncovered so it's time to pay the piper.

They flew, I shot, one died.

Fleabag held like a rock, not shaking with that "please. send. me. now" anticipation, but more of a "whenever you're ready, dumbass", indifference that I like about her. At my command, she unleashed hell, blasting a true line to the dead fowl. If she was one degree off, it was the downwind side, just for good measure. The rest was history, she came back and smugly placed at my feet the spent shotgun wad, then strolled off for her morning dump.

Ha! Great story Bill

Post of the day

Good stuff Bill, you can do nothing but smile when those things happen.
Sent from a gnarly phone with a kickstand