Twigpickers

I'm staying with my friend Tim JeffPlisner in a nice townhouse his family owns. Me Sugarfoot, Bootsy, Sweetpea, and Boobear have our own room upstairs. It's very nice here. But there are a bunch of old folks here. You know, the busybody Homeowners Association types who are always outside picking up twigs, walking their lap dogs and scowling at everyone with a look of disgust. The old ladies in their lime green stretchy pantsuits that don't reach their ankles. And old men that wear gigantic shorts over their boney bird legs with brown socks and sandals. I was walking my guys, who are sweet and never bother anyone, and we were in a grassy area when an old twig-snatcher comes around the corner of a building with his dog off leash and it starts making the most vicious snarling sound. It was barking and growling sounds and it was charging towards me and my dogs who were on leashes and harnesses, and the leashes were all joined together with another leash wrapped around my waist. "Sir, you better call your dog!" I hollored to him. He slowly stood up from his twig gathering hobby and his scowl was discernable from half a block away. "What?" He replied, annoyed that I had the nerve to address him while he was acutely focused on his very important work. "Get your dog!" I screamed. Now the man's dog was in a full charge toward us, and my crew started barking and pulling on the leashes. The idiot twig man shrugged and bent back over and continued his critical work. "Hey! Do you want your dog to die?" Now my dogs were in unison pulling with all their might, and my shoes started sliding on the wet grass and the dude stood up saw my dogs and asked "Is that a Pitbull?" "No, but you better get your dog on a leash!" Now his dog was running at us and when it got within 10 feet of my guys, I slipped- and they began pulling me across the grass with all their might! Luckily, I grabbed a small tree as we flew across the lawn and i held on with all my might. So then this dimwit finally calls his dog and turns around and with his most derisive twig-snatching snarl says "I hate Pitbulls". And as i lay there covered in sweat, in a tangle of leashes with all my panting exhausted dogs, in my muddy, grass-stained and torn brand-new JC Penny jumpsuit, I gathered my breath and shouted back "Well I hate Chihuahuas! "