My Friend Taco

Yesterday, I was sitting at the dining room table working on a term paper when I saw a puppy run across the front of our lawn. I told Matt I'd kind of like a dog. He agreed but pointed out that they make your house smell and prevent you from skipping town at the drop of a hat, as we have want to do from time to time.

About 15 minutes later the puppy ran by again, he was collared but clearly alone, so I went out after him. He ran up to me and we discovered he was not a puppy but a small mutt with a bunch of chiquaqua in him. He was named Taco. I found that to be a significant injustice.

We called the number on his tag – which gave us the answering machine for a DC based business, then called the number of his vet, which did not pick up. Then I let him out in the backyard to play and he ran away. I chased him down twice and brought him back to the house. His owner returned our call and came to pick him up. He neither got out of his car nor thanked us. But he did call the dog “Taco Bell”.

Chasing Taco around for 45 minutes, watching him pee in my neighbors' yards and eat other dogs poop was enough dog for a while. I need time to think of a name that isn't totally lame - sorry, Taco.