Elephant Ballet

"Who you call an elephant?"

“Who you call an elephant?”

Our dog is big and clumsy.

We call her Four-Ton. She races through the house, knocking down children on the way and skidding into walls. She runs through the legs of unaware grownups, making them say, “Whoa!” Coffee tables? Don’t leave coffee cups, books, papers or toys on top or they’ll wind up on the floor.

But when it comes to sneaking into the kitchen to have a snack out of the trashcan, she’s as nimble as a ballet dancer.

There she goes now, on tiptoes and unaware that I’ve spotted her, like an elephant doing ballet.

I say, “No.”

She turns, lowers her head and walks out despondently, like a ballet dancer after a fall, maybe.

It’s all for effect because five minutes later, when we’re no longer looking, we can hear the trashcan lid bash open against the wall and her wolfing down what’s inside with relish.

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