The Millers‘

Next door live the Millers. I once chased their dog away, not realizing it was their dog. I felt awful once it dawned on me, later, when I heard the Millers' daughter calling him. But it didn't even occur to me at the time that they even had a dog. He came lumbering into my yard, this big nebby dog, sniffing, all nebby and nosey and checking out the territory. My territory. Get! I said, sternly, angrily, protectively. I don't know what came over me. I'm not usually like that. I like dogs. I like to get down on their level and let them lick my face. I like to rub their bellies and see them act all stupid (because they are. Dogs are like toddlers that never grow up). But I was being territorial. I'm the only one allowed to whiz on my property. Mr. Miller once cut down my wife's wildflowers. He thought they were weeds. My wife laid into him something fierce. He felt so bad that he gave us tickets to a Pirates game. We had a good time. The flowers grew back.

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