It’s a Conspiracy

My dogs are trying to kill me.  I’ve suspected this for a while now, but after our walk this morning I’m sure of it.  Yesterday, they were straining against the leash searching the dark for an unknown opportunity to jerk me around like a puppet.  This morning I saw the deer a fraction of a second before they did, but not soon enough to rein them in before AJ and Orso lunged forward to give chase.  AJ weighs in at seventy five pounds while Orso weighs a mere ninety five pounds for a combined weight of one hundred seventy pounds, just a bit more than me.  Not to mention the difference in muscle mass.  I come out the loser on both counts and they know it.  The only thing I have in my favor is opposable thumbs.

Charlie trying to get a better angle at the deer made a quick turn from being on my right to circling around behind me and lunge forward on my left, with the leash positioned perfectly behind my knees.  My only saving grace was that he bumped into the other two keeping me from crashing to ground on my butt.  They dragged me about a half of dozen steps forward before I was able to get them under control with my steely voice. I really screamed loudly enough to wake the neighborhood.  The three heathens didn’t even have the good sense to pretend to look repentant. 

I don’t understand it.  I am the bringer of food.  I take them hiking and swimming.  I’m a good time.  Why would the dogs want me dead?  Just because I make sure they get a bath every two weeks in the winter and at least weekly in the summer.  More often depending on what they smell like.  I make them behave, no chasing the cat or running up and down the neighbor’s fence taunting their dog.  I don’t let them eat the disgusting dead thing they have found.  That couldn’t be it, could it?  Surely not.  Maybe I should sleep with one eye open.