Thursday, February 4, 2010

The mayor of Whittle Avenue

At the bottom of the hill, where my street begins, lives an ancient Shetland sheepdog I call the Mayor of Whittle Avenue. The Mayor is an elderly gentleman, stiff of haunch and white of muzzle, but he still patrols the street faithfully, every morning and evening. He walks slowly but purposefully, up one side of Whittle and down the other. When a car turns up Whittle the Mayor will amble into the middle of the narrow lane, forcing the car to stop so he can inspect it. When he recognizes the driver--me, for instance--he gives a curt nod: Carry on. I feel safer knowing the Mayor is on duty. He's got my vote.

6 comments:

John said...

You crack me up! I love reading these -- what would you call this one? -- a fleeting observation, I guess. Love 'em.

itzktb said...

And I feel safer that you tell the stories so well.

pete said...

I wish this Shetland Sheepdog had a Twitter feed so I could receive instructions throughout the day in my cabin.

Tai said...

Pete, if ever there were a use for Twitter, and I'm not convinced there is, it would be so the Mayor could extend his jurisdiction into the wilds of Alaska. I'll have my people speak to his people about it.

Thanks Cake, and John, thanks for visiting! I was trying for derring-do (as always), but I guess it is a fleeting observation.

Querulous Squirrel said...

I wish we had a mayor. We could use one.

Tai said...

Maybe you should hold a special election.