A couple of weekends ago we were taking a leisurely stroll through the park finding sticks for Dorothy to chew when we heard a bit of a ruckus. A young-ish man was delivering a sermon via megaphone; he had a small crowd of people listening to him, and he also had a few people walking through the park trying to round people up to head in his direction (they nipped at our heels and we said no thank you; black sheep we).
For the most part I didn’t pay much attention to the sermon, although I heard enough to note that it was of the hell and brimstone variety in which one’s possible torment is enumerated upon with great (and rather unseemly) glee.
Not too far from the preacher, we reached a wall upon which a group of arty youth were sitting. They asked if they could meet Dorothy, and since there is nothing Dorothy likes better than a meet n’ greet, she happily obliged. She kissed and wiggled and basically charmed the bunch. In fact, one of them asked if she could stay and be their mascot for awhile. He gestured to the sermonizing megaphone fellow and said that in light of all that, he felt they needed Dorothy to stay and be their Hellhound.
We declined their offer and headed home, but I thought as we went that Dorothy would have made a very fine Hellhound indeed.
Dorothy, thinking she could too be a hellhound:
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