CD: various, "What's Up Matador disc 1: Favorite Tracks"

A couple of entries ago I mentioned Dave, a friend of mine from Blasdell, New York. After I called him from the village courthouse there (it took a couple tries, the phone is primitive) Dave invited me to come over for a couple of hours, which, just like Dave, is very nice of him to do. Anyway, Dave's family has two dogs that I can recall: a larger black one that ARF BARK ARR!s and a more lilliputian one that YIP AYE AR!s At a previous visit to Dave's residence the larger dog was not happy to see me. It was late at night, the lights were on, and s/he probably thought I was going to rob Dave's Mom's Precious Moments figurines. Even worse, for some reason dogs stick their noses very close to my testicles. An angry dog, then, is cause for concern. This time, things seemed to be going well.

Until I opened the door a little too long. "Who let the dog out?" asked Dave, without intentionally referencing popular culture. "Oh, sorry. Um, sorry." I'm not much help. Dave disappeared in the kitchen. I was halfway to telling him he was going in the wrong direction when he reappeared with an individually wrapped slice of cheese. Dave and his younger brother Nathaniel went walking down the street, both with half a slice of cheese in one hand. "C'mon!" they would beckon. "Cheese! Cheese!" It took three minutes tops to get that dog back from the neighborhood. But afterwards, that dog treated me like the local butcher, polite forevermore because I gave him Freedom for a brief shining moment. I wonder, is this how they enforced the Fugitive Slave Act?