Ben can now add Police Dog to his suddenly burgeoning resume, which to date, includes Comstock Squirrel Herder, Maryhill Winery Greeter Dog and Most Excellent Soccer Player. Here’s the 4-1-1:
But Ben NEVER growls at women. He LOVES the ladies.
I braced myself for canine Armageddon. Instead, Ben bounded out into the street and ran to the copper, tail wagging, as if discovering a long-lost friend. He danced alongside the officer as he approached my lady friend.
"What are you doing?" he asked her. Ben milled around the pair, looking up attentively at the cop as if to say, "See? See? She's clearly Up To No Good!"
Listing Lady had to think about this for a moment. Apparently, it was a hard question.
"Ummmm, walking?" she responded vaguely.
The officer gently placed a hand on her shoulders and turned her around.
"I think you need to come back to the accident."
Taking this as my cue to corral Ben, we beat a hasty retreat down the street to home-sweet-home.
So, full disclosure: I'm a hopeless neighborhood Looky-Lou. I safely deposited Ben at the house and gave the Wonderfully Patient Spouse the Reader's Digest version of what just went down at the corner of our street. And, of course, headed out the door to see what would happened next.
Sure enough. There had been a car accident. A pretty good one at that. And there was my Listing Lady friend, now handcuffed and bent over the back end of a police cruiser. Three big, burly cops hovering over her. Somehow, I think she was in for a long day.
And back home? Ben got two morning treats for his crime-fighting prowess. Well done, Deputy Dawg. Bermtopia is safe with you on the job.