Pete is an object of oddity in my family. My Dad feels it the most. We love to suggest that he take Pete out on a morning jog through the neigborhood, because there's nothing more amusing than watching a macho retired firefighter jogging alongside a big black poodle, pom-pom tale a-wavin'.
This is a standard poodle - a mural of cute and cuddly. Pete, is one of these poofy suckers.
Luckily for Pete (and my Dad's manliness), my family does not have the time nor dedication to groom or trim Pete this regularly. So to get an accurate image of Pete, just fill in all the skin and triming with mounds and mounds of black, curly hair.
Dad tries everything in his power to blame the poodle on us. He calls it manly names like spider monkey, spaz, and johnson. Whenever the poodle does his business in the backyard, Dad is the crazed sports announcer (Uh oh! We're making the turn. He's spinning! He's squatting! Is that the spot? Will he take that spot? YES! WE HAVE PINCH, I REPEAT, WE HAVE PINCH!).
So when the poodle fell off the dock he never stopped telling the story in the most exaggerated manner possible. Arms flailing, mouth agape, screaming the shrillest of squeaks and yelps, it goes a little like this:
"The morning was beautiful and that damned dog had to ruin it by taking a pinch on the dock. [sips his beer]. He knows he's not supposed to do that but he likes to push me, and I chased after him, the Pink Finger* in my hand and my hand raised to the sky like that mighty fist of god or whatever. [raises his hand in mock imitation, eyes grow wide]. That damn spider monkey was so scared of me he started running and suddenly found that he had run out of dock! [he leans forward and opens his mouth, releasing a loud series of screeches and barks and finally KACHUUUUUNK! (the sound of poodle hitting the water)]. He does a flip off the dock and lands face-first into that water. A few seconds and his head is back over, yelping and biting at the water, stupid damn dog. I went in and saved him, of course. Can't have a bloated poodle floating around my boat."
At this point Pete gets up from the grass and jumps in front of my Dad, circus-poodle style, the old boing boing. And Dad stuffs cookies into his mouth because he really loves that damn poodle. Probably more than he loves us.
*The Pink Finger is this long piece of pink foam that we beat the dog with. We can pick it up and he'll hightail it into the kitchen, around the couch ... or off the edge of a dock.
