LEONARD 1989 – 1999
THE WORLD’S BEST WORST DOG SERIES - TAIL THREE
The Jehovah's Witnesses
Once upon a time, on a nice summer day, before Leonard, when we lived in our other house, the house with the porch that went past our bedroom, our living room and then to the front door, Sven and I ran inside and took cover, because we'd just seen a group of Jehovah's Witnesses heading our way.
There we were plastered to our bedroom carpet.
We heard a knock.
We looked at each other and grinned.
There was another knock.
I suppressed my laughter.
We heard them mumbling to each other.
We held our breath.
They knocked once more.
Still there was no response from the two adults who were hunkered down on the floor next to their unmade bed.
We could hear footsteps coming back our way on the porch.
We stared wide eyed at the window and didn't exhale as we watched them leaving one by one. It was all good, until
the youngest of the clan stopped walking. He turned around and he looked right at us, down there on the floor.
Moral of the story: Shut your curtains if you are trying to hide.
A few years later, after we'd acquired Leonard, the world's best worst dog, and we'd moved into our new house on twenty some acres, I took a wet spring day off work and I was happily mopping the kitchen floor, because I was young enough to believe that if I cleaned the place on Friday it would stay like that for the weekend. That is when I saw a blue minivan pull up and seven people wearing suits and skirts spilled out of it.
"Son of a bitch," I said and I put down the mop.
Now, even though Leonard did receive a diploma from Puppy Kindergarten, (See: Leonard Tails-Puppy Kindergarten) he wasn't perfect.
His zest for life, love and crotches could not be contained, especially when company arrived. And God forbid if you were female company during your menstrual cycle.
Leonard didn't mean to be rude when he planted his face in Bermuda Triangles and wouldn't leave them. It was his way of paying someone a compliment. He turned over many a trash can to dig the used goodies out of there. That is how much he liked the scent. He liked it almost as much as he enjoyed treating himself to the litter box chews, until Sven put the kibosh on it and cut that whole in the wall downstairs so that only the cats could get to their private room and do their private stuff.
In my recollection, the day that van pulled in was the only time that Leonard, who was outside rutting around and doing dog things at the time, didn't hear it and come barreling at the unsuspecting visitors, to jump on them, to paw them half to death and to sniff all the sniff right out of their southern hemispheres.
No. The one time that I wished our embarrassing piece of fur was there to represent us, he was missing.
I quickly opened the door to ward the people away from this imminently muddy situation which would surely end in a dry cleaning bill.
"Excuse me," I called out.
They were outside of the van and smiling at me with a look of, "Yes?"
"My dog's out here," I said. "You probably should get back into your car."
"What a beautiful place you have," said the spokeswoman in a gray drab outfit.
"Seriously," I said. "He's all muddy and he jumps on everybody. I can't control him."
I expected Leonard to come bounding toward them from around the corner of the woodshed like ALWAYS.
But. No. Leonard.
"Really," I said to the gang of pamphlet pushers as they made their way up onto the front porch and I stood half in and half out of the house. "You do not want to be here when he shows up. He's nuts."
The unabashed woman with hair that matched her skirt, spoke again while the other twelve eyes were all on me. "You are so very lucky to live back here in this secluded spot."
"Yes," I agreed, keeping an eye on the woodshed.
"You are tucked away nicely. It's so private that people don't even know this exists."
"Yes."
Jesus, I thought. Maybe they are axe murderers under the guise of Jehovah's Witnesses. Maybe they're just trying to find out who all is home and then when they realize that it's one lowly little floor mopping house wife they will chop me to pieces and take all of our shit.
Well, I wasn't worried about that. My dog would show up any time now to protect me.
She continued, "It must be wonderful to drive in here and turn off the problems outside and just hideout in this little piece of paradise."
Really? Was she trying to guilt me? I was raised Catholic. I'm an authority on guilt. And she wasn't cutting it.
"Yes, wonderful is correct." I said. "And really, my dog is out here somewhere."
Now, do you suppose that four legged welcome wagon from hell ever showed up to save me?
NO. HE DID NOT.
So, I listened for fifteen minutes about how I could still save myself from eternal damnation, but it was all up to me. It was simple. All I had to do was become a Jehovah's Witness.
I quit interjecting with my buts after realizing that this was just prolonging the agony and not changing any points of any views.
After all it was their destiny to save others. I had to respect them for that.
I bought a Watchtower.
But it didn't look like this.
Then they climbed back into their minivan, put on their seatbelts and waved good-bye.
The kid in the back seat was the same kid who'd stared into our bedroom window the last time I saw him.
The second they were out of sight, Leonard came out from around the corner of the woodshed.
And THAT was what made me a believer. I'd just witnessed a miracle that only God could have pulled off.
But, I still didn't join Kingdom Hall.
For starters, I hated their outfits.
And then Leonard ran up onto the porch and skidded in past me before I could close the door and he got his muddy paw prints all over my kitchen floor and then he slurped some water and then he drizzled his way into the living room and climbed onto the couch, right in front of me.
Did you know that Jehovah's Witnesses don't participate in Halloween?
They don't care for strangers knocking on their doors.
Hahahahahahhahhahahahahaha Lol. Hahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahaha.
Yes, I stole the joke.
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