No one has a happy hamster story

Woody (who is my dog) made a friend last night. Around midnight, I let him out to pee before bed. And because it was around midnight, and I learn nothing, I let him go outside off leash. I do this sometimes. I know the risks but I’m lazy. The point is he wasn’t on a leash and I didn’t have my phone. Which is a shame. I’d love to have this on video.

He ran over to the grassy area and checked his usual pee spots. Then his ears pricked forward and he posed like a bird dog for a second before tearing off towards a wooded area. I thought it was a cat, or maybe another homeless dude sleeping among the trees. Welcome to any major city where no one can afford housing or drug treatment.

I don’t usually chase Woody. I’m not going to catch him and all he understands is, “You’re coming too? Oh fuck yeah.” But when he stopped at the edge of the trees and barked a very, “Hey! Who are you? HI!” I started running. He’d forgotten his name and I didn’t want whatever was in those trees hurting him. Then he dropped into a play bow, the pose that’s supposed to convinced another dog to play with him. The bow didn’t work so he tried a couple hops. I was waiting for a cat to spring from the bushes and latch onto his face. It’s happened. But no cat shot itself at him.

I reached Woody about the time he was rolling from a second play bow onto his back in a pathetic attempt at “come on, bro. I’m nice. We could be playing” This move—