After having my last piano lesson here, coming back on the bus next to one of the scariest-looking guys I’ve ever seen, and eating an early dinner, I thought about completing the three things on today’s to-do list: blog, homework, thank-you cards; but instead decided that I needed some much-deserved procrastination time.
I ended up spending quite a long time aimlessly reading articles and blogs online, trying to forget that I had homework to do or a final to study for. I was brought back to earth by the sound of the doorbell.
I didn’t know what to do; my host mom wasn’t home. Her dog was, though, and he had run to the door, barking and sniffing, and looking at me like I was crazy for not running to open it right away.
For some reason my first thought when I hear the sound of the doorbell, any doorbell, is that I’ll open the door and be slaughtered by a serial killer. I certainly didn’t want to be murdered today, so I peeked through the peephole and saw nothing. Either the doorbell-ringer had gone, or they were hiding out of view to ambush me when I opened the door. I wasn’t sure what to do…
…so I asked the dog. I actually said, “Do you think I should open the door?” out loud to him. I took his sniffing to be a “yes” and cautiously unlocked and opened the door.
The doorbell-ringer came into view.
It was a middle-aged man in lederhosen.
He immediately went into his spiel, in German. I quickly tried to put on my I-understand-what-you’re-saying-and-listening-attentively face while trying to figure out what was going on. He was holding a stack of glossy pamphlets so I held my hand out for one.
“[GERMAN GERMAN GERMAN] Euro,” he said.
“Oh! Nein, danke,” I said hastily.
The whole time this was happening, my host mom’s dog had slipped through the open door and was now cavorting outside, sans collar and leash. By the time the lederhosen man had left, I was determined not to have a dog’s life on my conscience.
“Hey! Oskar! Come here!” I called in my best talking-to-animals voice. “Come here, Oskar!”
Either Oskar didn’t want to come back, or he didn’t understand English. Or both. I watched him run in and out of view, unresponsive to my calls, so I took necessary action.
I fled to the pantry, grabbed the box of dog treats, and ran back outside.
“Here, Oskar!” I yelled, shaking the box in his direction. For one moment he looked at me as if sizing up the situation, then seemed to make the decision that one cannot obtain treats in the wild. He began trotting back towards me.
So in the end, I got my host mom’s dog back inside, with a delicious treat for all his troubles. I also now have a dog that won’t stop following me around because I think he now knows I will give him treats at the drop of a hat.
Also, I should do my homework now.
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