You never know what’s going to show up on your doorstep. Just last week I was nestled into the couch about to sample that evening’s fare, when I heard barking from multiple canines right at my back door. Since I don’t own a dog, I set my plate aside and ventured into the kitchen where I peeked out the window that afforded the best view of the porch. There stood two dogs, both of the frou-frou variety, and one of them was wearing a pink dress. Hmm. I watched them bound off my porch and around the yard, cutting capers and playing hide and seek in the grass. The one in the skirt was definitely at a disadvantage since her Pepto Bismol attire made it hard for her to camouflage. I cracked the door to get a better look at them and to look for an owner, but they seemed to be out for a jaunt in the spring air unattended. I held out my phone for a picture, and as soon as they heard the click of the mechanism, they charged with enthusiastic gentility. What in the world?
Then suddenly it hit me. Of course. These were Jehovah’s Witnesses canines. Who else shows up unannounced dressed in their Sunday best when you’re already in your jammies and have a fork three fourths of the way to your mouth? Just a month prior to this I’d had a human faction of that denomination stop by, and since I hadn’t allowed them access for proselytizing, they had obviously dispatched the canine unit. One look at those little fur balls playing in the yard and I thought they might be on to something. Now if only they could teach them how to hand out brochures . . .