That is the amount of people to urgently insist I remove my head phones on the trail at Town Lake today to tell me that Henri is the cutest thing they've ever seen. I was cordial, but only because I was raised by Rod and Jennifer; if my parents hadn't been southern and kind I would give them an earful.
Their questions: What breed is he? Where is he from? How do you keep him so well behaved?
My questions: This dog? Cutest thing ever? Sir Scratch-A-Lot? Mr. Take me downstairs at 2 am but don't you dare wake me up when you have to leave at 4:30? The same dog that will attack an 80 pound mastit but cowers away from Faith, my mother's 4 lb yorkie-poo? The one who forced me out of a 23 year long relationship with chocolate because he can jump 4 feet in the air and knows every hiding place.
Yeah, rethink the compliment.
