I was in the kitchen when there was a sharp knock at the front door. The dogs started yapping and ran to the narrow, floor length window in the entryway to see who was there. It's their little window on the world. I was only a second behind them and when I looked out I saw the mailman.
Fleeing.
Running down the front walk.
By his actions you'd think he'd just left a bomb at the front door.
I quickly scooted past the dogs and out the door and called after him "Helloooo".
He spun back around. The fear on his face melted away once he saw it was only me. Turns out he had a registered letter, final docs from the boyfriend's former employer.
"I wasn't sure anyone was home" said the mailman. "And then I saw the dogs and I wasn't going to take any chances."
Really? My dogs?
My dogs are about the size of a loaf of bread. They look more like plush toys and are just as threatening. Unless it's possible to be licked to death, they pose absolutely no danger. Plus, they were behind glass. And the mailman was terrified of them.
So much for "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night..." because if you have a dog, no matter how small, in this neighborhood you can kiss your mail good-bye. The guy seriously needs to put on his big boy pants or get out of the business.
Come to think of it... where's our usual Mail Lady? The one who drinks? I haven't seen her in weeks. Maybe she blacked out in her mailbag one too many times and finally checked into rehab. I hope she's OK.
