Maximillion

Friday, September 30, 2016

Gunther will not poop in our back yard, so I needed to walk him around the block, same as I have done 3-4 times a day, every day we’ve had him, since January.  Raising a puppy is a holy task, but I think he is worth it.  He has many, er, advantages.  He barks at the mailman, poops on the other end of the block, and sneaks upstairs to pee on the carpet.  I don’t live upstairs.  However, tomorrow we will mitigate the stains.  Anyway, I digress.

G. and I were nearly home from his pooping when I spied a gentleman, whom I learned a little later is named Dave, and his mastiff, Maximillion.  Or Maxi, for short.  We did the usual dog owner things:  clucked about each other’s handsome dog, noticed how much they like each other, as judged by the motion of the wagging tails, and generally acted agreeable.  I noticed the plastic poop bag tied to Maxi’s leash.  I couldn’t help noticing Maxi’s stout body and large, bone-crushing-jaws and head.

We didn’t spend a lot of time, Gunther and I, and soon we went our way.  Dave and Maxi went theirs.