Our ever-industrious postal delivery team is at it again.
The truck broke down a bit down the hill, so the carrier, a substitute of the delicate female persuasion, came trudging up the hill and down our drive lugging the 20+ lb box of cookbooks from Jessica's Biscuit.
After the rather cumbersome exchange at the doorway (tough to get boxes in while keeping dogges in) I thought all was well; unfortunately, the door did not completely latch, so soon we had four streakers heading out the door and down the hill. I put on shoes, grabbed a leash and headed out. Well, it seems the most interesting thing was the disabled mailtruck and. I suspect, a most concerned driver, waiting on the road for her supervisor. When I called, all but Fletcher (who of course couldn't hear) came dashing back - but when I suggested "house" they said, nope- "car". I put the three of them in the car - and meanwhile Fletcher had decided to wander up the hill toward the highway to explore. So we drove up until I spotted him, got out, hooked him to a leash and put him in the car. Since it was now 3:30 and Woody was due to get off, I drove up to the store to pick him up. I dashed in, leaving the dogs in the car, and he was still a-checking.
"Didn't you get my message?", he inquired. Seems they're extending him 'til 6:30 (an 11 hour day, and over 52 hours for the week!) Am I on the hook to buy dinner tonight?
der Brucer
