ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 131
my Reeboks or I'd fall on my face trying to get Benson to stay by my side, I
desperately wanted to elongate my legs and minimize my thighs with spiky
heels below my jeans. I bowed to the practical.
My self-appraisal was generally positive. I especially loved my hands!
The nails were applied with a patch of double-stick paper that adhered quite
well to both my nails and the store-bought set. They were perfectly painted,
perfectly matched and perfectly beautiful.
Benson dragged me to the car and we began our new adventure. He
was quite well-behaved, sitting in the passenger seat enthralled with the
world passing by.
He heard the other dogs long before they came into view. He stood on
the seat trying to fit his head through the crack I'd left in his window and
joined the chorus with vigor. It was with great difficulty that I parked the
car as he was now leaping from my lap to his window making every possible
effort to get to the other dogs who were now well within sight. ยท His leash
tangled itself around the emergency brake and he nearly strangled as I
attempted to disengage him from his fetters. Preceding him out of the car
was another acrobatic feat, and once I had accomplished it, he flew across
the street with me in tow, unable to contain his enormous excitement at
meeting his new friends.
Surrounded by Dobermans, Shepherds, and Rottweilers, Benson was
not the least intimidated by these oversized beasts. There were some who
didn't take kindly to his overly zealous kisses and sniffs and told him so with
surly growls and bared teeth. As he jerked away from the unfriendly sort and
continued his thorough investigation, I followed where he led me, totally
under his control. Occasionally, I tendered a feeble tug on his leash but he
was oblivious to my attempts at mastery. There may have been men present
but my awareness was total dog... mine and theirs.
I was trying to set down my purse which had fallen from my shoulder
and now hung precariously from my wrist when a male voice, close beside me
said, "Press your hand just above his tail and say 'sit!' Like this!"
And Benson was sitting. On his back rested a large, strong hand. I
followed it with my eyes as it turned into a smooth, tan, well-muscled arm
capped by the sleeve ofa light blue T-shirt. Up went my grateful gaze to eyes
that matched the shirt. Early to mid 40's, I guessed, sandy hair tinged with
gray, 6'2", about 200 pounds, gorgeous, of course. So was his Shepherd, a
calm, well-behaved bitch.
"It doesn't take strength, just firmness. Let him know who's in
charge." Behavior that might have irritated me twenty years earlier I now
found flattering. Do feminists enjoy being sex objects (given half the chance)
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