Meet Mr. Bluehorn
Italian Greyhounds, puppies, dogs, adventures, thoughts, issues
Vicious. Fierce. Pomeranian.
Gregio, Lexi, Mea and me were sitting in the waiting room outside of Vice Principal Bluehorn’s office. It was a scary time for sure. Luckily, the carpet was padded with newspapers as some of us – who will go unnamed – had a bit of an “accident” caused by fear. They must go through a lot of newspapers here, I thought.
“Louie, get in my office!,” a voice behind the closed door growled.
“Mr. Bluehorn will see you now,” Ms. Jansen, the school’s Beagle secretary, said gently. She must have coaxed many fearful dogs into that office. It instilled a bit of confidence. Or maybe it’s more like a beef chew wrapped around the pill that I take every day. I hate taking pills.
“Take a seat, mister,” Mr. Bluehorn barked. “You’re in a lot of trouble. I don’t know who you think you are, coming to this hallowed institution, Milk Bone Pickens High, and causing all this mayhem. The food fight in the cafeteria is not the type of behavior we instill into our students.”
“I want to know who started it and I want to know now,” he continued. “I want names!”
“I don’t know where to start,” I began. “I’d like to put it in perspective first. This is a kind of ‘Wag the Dog’ scenario.”
“Is that some kind of joke?” Mr. Bluehorn grunted.
“I like the context but this is not the time,” he replied. “Go on.”
“You’re looking at this all wrong,” I began to warm up. “Where you saw a food fight, I saw generosity. When was the last time you saw a dog share food with others? Never! I submit to you, maybe you don’t approve of the method of sharing the food but Mr. Bluehorn, I beg of you, don’t punish these acts of kindness.”
Mr. Bluehorn stared at me. And stared. And stared. He got out of his chair. I looked around. There’s no newspaper on the floors.
“So let me get this straight,” he snorted. “The food fight was just a distraction from what you were trying to accomplish which was to share food? A canine charity event?”
“You’re a pretty funny dog,” Mr. Bluehorn stated flatly.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” he angrily replied. “You can laugh yourself right into detention. One week!”
With that Mr. Bluehorn reached over and hit a buzzer.
“Ms. Jansen, could you please bring in some newspapers. Thanks.”
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