A man was offering me a job to help his wife unpack their household goods. He gave me an address in a place I didn't recognize. I wanted to look it up before I committed, so I searched in my bag for a bit of paper, found it and a pencil, then said:
"How 'bout I call you and let you know. Can you give me your phone number please?"
As the man rattled off his digits, I wrote them down. Six digits into the ten digit phone number, a dog yelled.
"I'm sorry, I didn't get the last four numbers. Could you repeat them please?" I asked apologetically.
As the man repeated the last four numbers, a dog yelled.
"I'm terribly sorry, I couldn't hear them over the dog. Could you tell me one more time?" I asked contritely.
One more time the man repeated the last four numbers. A dog yelled.
Terribly embarrassed, I once again asked the man to repeat his phone number. A dog yelled over the repetition of numbers.
Babbling now, and trying to explain about hounds, I once again asked the man to repeat his phone number. Without losing any patience, the man did so.
Becoming more incoherent by the second, I asked again and again for the man's phone number only to have the last four digits drowned out by a yelling hound.
Finally, I woke up. Not too surprisingly, Ray was yelling.
Only sleep deprivation can make me sleep through Ray's noise. He's been waking me up every night for weeks now. Based on the presence of fox poop in our back yard and on the sidewalk out front, I deduce we have a fox in the 'hood. Despite the fact that we've been sleeping with all the windows closed, Ray knows when Monsieur Reynard arrives and he wants us to know too.
I have been SO tempted to let him out to chase the fox away but for two things:
- M. Reynard arrives between midnight and four in the morning. Our neighbors would NOT be pleased.
|Look, you just have to let me out once and, I promise, |
that fox will never come back.