Slow Bill and Dog

Today as we pulled into the driveway after picking up my younger sister from school, my mom groaned. "Ugh, it's BILL." Bill was ambling cheerfully a few houses up, his very pudgy dog smelling every piece of grass. Bill is the president of the home-owners association, and his dog (fondly nicknamed "Meanie") is the president of a prominent hate group for standard poodles. Our standard poodle started crying dramatically in the back of the car at the sight of Slow Bill and dog.

"Great, now we can't take the dogs out until Slow Bill goes all the way back down!" My mom muttered. (Slow Bill lives several houses down from us, and if he is even in smelling distance of our dogs, there will be bloodshed and probably a few noise complaints.)

So, we went inside, leashed up the dogs, and watched Slow Bill disappear around the bend leading to the cul-de-sac, and waited. And waited. Slow Bill is REALLY slow. Slow Bill has a bowl cut and wears khakis to walk his dog, and for this I admire him. Eventually, we grew restless and starting going to multiple windows to see if Slow Bill had somehow passed us on his way back down without us seeing him. "Perhaps he's broken into a trot," my mom dreamed.

But no. Not today. Slow Bill was barely coming back around the corner a few minutes later. Meanwhile, we rearranged the pantry, moved furniture, checked the weather, and graduated college. (I wish! Goodness knows I had enough time.)

And finally, Slow Bill was just a little ant-sized bowl cut in his own driveway, and we took our dogs out. My mom finally said, "You know, we could have taken the dogs out while Slow Bill was in the cul-de-sac..."

Hindsight is 20/20!

Slow Bill, if you're reading this, I just want to say thank you. You taught me a lot of things. Patience. Perseverance. Fashion. Thank you, Slow Bill. Thank you.