I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps my marriage to a "Harmon" (German surname) is to blame, but one day I looked around and realized all of our dogs are German breeds. This is not a bad thing, unless you allow them to get into your head.
Two nights ago walked into my home and found myself in an old Bavarian style inn surrounded by every German breed of dog I could imagine. Dauchshunds, Rotwielers, Dobermans, Min-Pins, and the like. They were all drinking German Ale, singing German songs, and playing loud German tunes that reminded me of an evening in Helen, Georgia. Add to this the fact that all these dogs were driving BMWs, Mercedes, Porsches, and VW's, and were speaking like those three little pigs in the "Shreck" stories.
Ozzy was swinging from a light fixture dressed in one of those little alpine outfits you see in the old movies, and before I realized it I was caught up in the whole affair. I soon found myself on the floor with dogs dancing around and around, laughing and saying "Yah! Yah!". Then the cuckoo clocks started to sound off... dozens of them, hundreds of them, louder and louder... stupid little yellow birds were everywhere. Just when I felt my eardrums couldn't take any more abuse, the ruckus was interupted by the thunderous roar of a saw cutting wood in a mill... and it wouldn't stop. It kept on and on... and then my living room began to fade into view. A living room... with a saw mill?
As my mind cleared, lo and behold, there was Ozzy, lying next to me on his back, snoring as loud as I have ever heard anyone do so. It was a dream, a stupid dream; or better yet, a NIGHTMARE! The dogs have finally gotten to me. Irritated, I pushed a sleepy Ozzy off the chair. "What did I do?", he asked. "Nuthin'", I said abruptly. Just make sure you sleep in another room from now on!
I need a poodle! Uh,oh, wait a minute...Poodles aren't from
Germany, are they?
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