I dropped off Truman at the vet the other day and returned to find him surrounded by several female staff members who cooed at his every move. These are women who see dogs and cats all day long, but you wouldn’t know it by how they reacted to my furry companion that afternoon. “Look at his furry paws!” said the doctor, a blonde who looks like she uses Herbal Essence shampoo. “Your big paws are so cute.” Added a nurse, a brunette: “You’re such a sweet boy … so quiet.”
Truman excitedly wagged his tail and wiggled his small butt, triggering geisha-girl giggles. Hee-hee-hee-hee! He’s so cute!
I laughed along, like a proud father: Haw-haw-haw-haw! That’s m’boy!
My dog probably has an ego the size of a mastodon and his visits to the vet don’t help one bit. If he were a human, he’d be like Leonardo DiCaprio in “Catch Me If You Can,” locked arm-in-arm with stewardesses strutting through a terminal.
Can you see it? Almost pleading, they seem to be asking Truman, “Call me?”
Truman licks a paw, smooths back his blonde mullet and replies, “Maybe.”
Yep, that’s what goes through my mind during a long commute. For your pleasure, Blondie’s “Call Me.”