We'll be good, we promise

Remember when you were little and you were being bad, especially in the car, and your parents threatened to call the police and have them haul you off to jail if you didn’t start being good?
We’ll, we got that speech yesterday when the dogcatcher showed up in the neighborhood.
Fearless little Duchess went running and barking after him, so she got the first and longest speech from our person, Cheryl.
“The dogcatcher comes after little, white fluffy things who go through the trashcans an eat tissue and other unmentionables. He also comes after little girls who use the bathroom on the carpet. And little doggies who wake up their people in the middle of the night when they bark.”
As Cheryl kept rattling off doggie sins, Duchess’ big black eyes got this worried look in them. “Really? That man would take me away from my Daddy if I did those things? That would not be good for my severe case of separation anxiety.”
Lexie and I got the barking speech, too.
We also got this speech, “The dogcatcher comes for big, golden fluffy things who dig up the backyard and kill innocent moles.”
Guilty as charged. We bagged one just before the dogcatcher turned on our street.
Cheryl continued, “He comes for big girl dogs who eat their brother’s food.” (That one was for Lexie). “And he comes for big boy dogs who whine during thunderstorms.”
“Let’s get back to Duchess and Lexie’s bad habits,” I said.
On the dogcatcher’s way out of the neighborhood he stopped to talk to Cheryl and another neighbor.
I stood on top of Lexie and Duchess stood on top of me and we cupped our ears to gate to hear what they were saying.
“Why do I always have to be on the bottom,” Lexie complained.
(I think that’s a rhetorical question.)
“Shh,” Duchess said, “He’s saying something about a fat flea.”
“I think that’s a cat in a tree,” I corrected.
From what we could gather, the dogcatcher’s visit had nothing to do with us being bad but everything to do with two dogs running loose in the hood, treeing cats and spreading rich people’s trash throughout their yards in the next hood over.
That dogcatcher must be good. He got his man – I mean dogs.
And for at least the next hour, we were good, too. Until Duchess, who suffers from short-term memory loss, went through the trashcan in the people’s bedroom. Then came the Santa-Claus-is-watching speech.