The elevator doors open on the eleventh floor.
A little white poodle gets out alone.
She walks around all confused and then gets back into the
elevator, with me.
I don’t know what to do.
I’ll take her to the doorman.
But it’s a beautiful spring day and the front doors
are wide open so she dashes out of the building.
Oh my God!
I’m going to be blamed for the neighbor’s dog’s
getting hit by a bus.
I give chase yelling to the people on the street.
“Stop the dog! Stop THAT dog!”
We all give chase.
A real-estate broker and his client the air-conditioner repair guy
and even the mail woman.
Hank, the doorman, says, “That’s the Deckers’ dog.”
“Let’s get her!“ I shout.
Hank is a really calm person. Nothing rattles him.
With an open palm, he gestures to the door and
The Deckers’ poodle obediently follows his hand
gently leading him back to safety and away from
the rest of us who are chasing her around
the sidewalk like maniacs.
Cool heads always prevail; even on a warm spring day.
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