The Great Chicken Heist
And Lamont Beats Up Sir Hubert the Third Again
My pal, Lamont, doesn't possess what would be called "Traditional Good Looks."
Just do the math. At 8 inches tall when fully erect, which is not often given his fondness for the couch, Lamont is decidedly on the shorter side of your average guy. Then there is the horizontal dimensions of his body which can be best described as rather ridiculously resembling a hot dog. I measured it at exactly 2 feet, if you don't include the tail, which would make him 3 times as long as he is tall. That tail adds another 12 ½ inches.
Then there is his most dominant feature—Lamont's nose which (again documented with a measuring tape) measures 8 inches. Or 75% of his head. In other words, Lamont's nose occupies considerably more real estate north of his neck than his brain. It also appears to his most highly functioning organ.
Lamont agreed to sit for this scientific collection of data under the bald ruse that he was being measured for a new Tuxedo.
But Lamont makes the best use of his God given attributes, and the only thing exceeding the size of his nose is his ego. He has no problem strutting his stuff, prancing about in public as if he were the most fetching morsel alive and that the remainder of the world exists to serve as Lamont's oyster.
Which sometimes gets Lamont in Big Trouble as Lamont is quite opinionated and rarely feels a need to not express his views when they occur to him, sometimes with great vigor and an absence of forethought.
Yesterday he beat up that high fallutin canine hybrid Sir Hubert the 3rd. Again.
Lamont does not like Hubert. Whenever Sir Hubert has the audacity to show up at Abraham Lincoln Public Park, Lamont makes it clear that he is less than welcome. So Hubert and his equally as snooty human tend to come at odd hours, specifically to avoid Lamont, who they fear.
About ten days ago, Sir Hubert the 3rd's human came up to me and dripping with insincerity in a high pitched nasal affectation of faux entitlement said: "Would you mind telling me when you and Lamont come to the park as Hubert and Lamont don't get along and I want Hubert to be happy." So I told her.
Then yesterday, Lamont and Sir Hubert's paths crossed and then inevitable happened. Hubert ran clueless into the gaggle of romping canines and Lamont spotted him out of the corner of his eye. And KAPOW!! Sucker punched him. Hubert went down for the count. And Lamont hovered over him for a second and sneered and then strutted off to resume his romping with his other more acceptable collegues.
"OK! This is ridiculous! I have had it. I have tried to come out to the park when Lamont isn't here so My Sir Hubert can be happy," she shrieked in a high pitched eruption that brought silence to all in Abraham Lincoln Park.
"Madame. They are dogs," I replied to Sir Hubert's equally unimpressive human. And then I just couldn't resist, and added: "Plus, Lamont usually has pretty good judgment of character. Of both dogs and their humans."
This did not help bring a mutually acceptable resolution to the matter. And Sir Hubert sulked off accompanied by his snooty companion, whose gate was more like a quick paced stalk.
After we finished our daily constitutional in Abraham Lincoln Park, Lamont and I came home and I cooked dinner. As I am want to, I cooked up enough to last for a couple days. Two pounds of chicken, finely shredded and covered in sesame seeds, 8 green onions, double thick soy sauce, and Thai red sauce in the wok on the stove.
The rice cooker did its thing with piping hot Thai Jasmine rice.
I enjoyed one bowl of what was a rather delicious concoction I rather proudly whipped up without benefit of a recipe.
And took a nap on the couch. Only to be woken by a suspiciously self satisfied Lamont leaping in an attack on my face by Lamont's insistent smooching and copious quantities of saliva nearly suffocating me.
As if Lamont was thanking me for something. I loudly protested this sneak attack and stumbled up for another bowl of my delicious chicken. Which was in the wok. On the stove. And was gone. All 2 pounds of it. Well, except for one centimeter chicken cube just to remind me how good it tasted and hungry I was.
Lamont was laying on the floor with those big droopy lovable oval eyes perched on his prodigious proboscis staring at me. I swear he then winked at me.
I have no hard evidence. But nobody nose Lamont like I nose Lamont. ■