So yesterday morning I'm taking Wendell for his walk, and we come around the corner and see the Smallest Dog Ever. Now, this is saying something. Wendell is a ten-pound rat terrier, so he's generally one of the smallest dogs we see, but this dog was tiny. Miniscule. It was a teacup poodle with dark brown fur and a large black sweater, and it looked like a punctuation mark, cowering by the newspaper box.

"Is your dog friendly?" asked the woman with the little dog (and see, that's cool for me to write, because usually I'm "the woman with the little dog."

"He barks," I replied. Which is true. Wendell, meanwhile, is making a major display of his disinterest, sniffing around the base of a tree.

"Mine, too," she said.

We decide to go for it. Her dog walks toward Wendell. Wendell walks toward the little dog. There's a moment of standoff, where they both hold perfectly still. Then the little dog starts barking, and I swear, it was the funniest thing I've ever heard.

"RAOWR! RAOWR! RAOWR RAOWR RAOWR!" Except you have to imagine that really high-pitched and agitated. The dog sounded like a little old lady having a sneezing fit. I cracked up, which I felt badly about later, because I know Wendell doesn't like it when people laugh at his shows of masculine (well, neutered male) aggression (also, he doesn't like it when people say Yo quiero Taco Bell, which we also get a lot of.) Wendell didn't know what to make of it. Then he started barking, too, and the little dog walked all the way to the end of his leash as if to say You want a piece of me? There's not much to go around, but I could take off this sweater and we could get it on. Heh.

Meanwhile, big excitement around here (and by "around here," I mean the second floor of my house, consisting of the laundry room/home office and the bedroom/repository of clean but unfolded laundry). I finished the second draft of the first third of my second book, IN HER SHOES! Just two-thirds more to go!