8/25/17

You Can Ring My Bell

The dogs are always on alert with the comings and goings in the neighborhood.  They loathe skateboarders coasting along the sidewalk. Mothers pushing strollers evoke snarls.  Runners, joggers and speed walkers require violent barking and saliva drips down the front windows.  They can watch me walk out the front door to the mailbox but as soon as I turn around, it’s like I transformed into someone else and the clamor begins.  Selling Girl Scout Cookies?  Oh no you don’t!  Trick or Treat?  No, no and no.  Meter reader, pest control or any service worker? Nope, nada, no way Jose.  

And then there are the Mormons.

They approach from the street.

They walk to the front door.

They ring the bell.

Silence of the dogs.


I open the door and all three push past me and hang out with the two young men dressed in crisp white shirts, perfectly pressed black pants with shiny official name tags.  The dogs offer paws, heads and bellies.  They sit nicely next to their newfound pack as I listen to the young Mormons in quiet awe.  They glow a bit and I’m not sure that it is simply the summer heat and humidity.  It could be a halo.  Maybe something only the dogs can see.  Every six weeks or so, the names on the tags might change but the behavior of the three-pack is always the same when the Mormons come calling.