The Third stopped by this morning and told me to hop into the truck with him. I just lay there for a couple of minutes staring up at him with one of those "You talkin to me?" expressions, and enjoying his cursing. After showing him I wasn't intimidated, I casually strolled over to the truck and took up the shotgun position. It's not like I had anything better to do. The Third was upset over something he read over breakfast this morning. He talks to me a lot; tells me things he doesn't say to humans. Guess he's worried somebody will sue him for saying what's on his mind. I listened, but I'm not sure I understand why he's so upset. I just wagged my tail and gruffed at the right opportunities so he would know I was paying attention.
The thing that got The Third (hereafter referred to TT) riled up this morning was a letter claiming that the reason so many Americans are losing their jobs, is because foreign workers are coming in and taking them. Something about 1.5 million jobs were taken by legal foreigners last year while 2.5 million Americans lost their jobs. TT said, "Who knows how many jobs the illegals have stolen from Americans!" Shoot, I could have told him that. None of our groundskeepers and housekeepers speak English, though I'm sure they understand it.
I'm not too worried about being insourced myself. Most of the dogs around here couldn't track an elephant in an elevator.
Anyway, TT pulls into this printing shop on Geer Street and we go inside. TT orders 500 bumper stickers, which he intends to hand out to all his friends...I guess they'll each get 100. Here's what TT wanted the bumper stickers to say: "REMEMBER THE ALAMO! OCCUPY MEXICO CITY!"
The man who took the order seemed hesitant at first, until TT got in his face and shouted "You hablas ingles?"
The clerk replied "Si, Si, Senor".
"Hasta pronto!" TT insisted.
"No problema."
TT turned for the door. "Vamos!" he said, looking at me. I just sat there. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
"Get in the damn truck Bubba!"
That I understood. On the way out the door another brown skinned human stopped and held the door open for us. TT confronted him, "De donde eres wet-back?" I thought the brown man would attempt to strike TT but he took one look at me and changed his mind. He replied, "Yo soy de Durham". TT demanded to see his green card and the man looked my way again before complying. Now I know why TT wanted me to go with him to the printing shop. TT held the card up to the light, flipping it over and over, though I could tell he didn't know what a green card looked like anyway. He flipped it back at the brown man and said, "Take a bath will ya? It's a long time until Saturday."
I don't fault TT for disliking Mexicans; after all, those stinking sissy cockaroacha chihuahuas are good for nothing except barking and hiding in the purses of female humans. They're always quivering with fear when they meet a real dog, and try to cover it with incessant barking. All they can say is "Yo quiero taco bell! Yo quiero taco bell!" TT gave me a burito grande from Taco Bell once, and I had the runs for two days.
We went back after lunch to pick up TT's bumper stickers. There was a taco truck parked in the printing lot and TT put a sticker on the truck when the driver wasn't looking. Oh yeah, I had TT email me the link to the letter that upset him. Here it is, you might have to cut and paste it into your web browser:
http://www.numbersusa.com/content/resources/video/commercials/elevator-commercial.html?jid=83591&lid=9&rid=928&tid=686245
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