Many Christmases ago, my wife Anne and friends Lanny and Kathy were invited to a party at a mutual friend’s house. The weather was mild, as it sometimes is in central Oklahoma, even in the middle of winter. We arrived in festive dress carrying obligatory bottles of wine as gifts for the hosts. The front door was open and we could see through the screen door that the party was already in full swing.
A friendly German Shepherd joined us as we walked up the porch. When we opened the front door, it entered in front of us and began mingling with the guests. We found the hosts, presented them with the bottles of wine, and then proceeded to sample the appetizers and mix drinks for ourselves. We noticed that everyone was staring at us and keeping their distance. Finally, a young man dressed in sports coat and Christmas tie edged closer. He smiled and nodded.
“Do you always bring your dog to parties?” he asked.
“It’s not our dog,” Kathy quickly said. “We thought he lived here when he followed us in the door.”
The young man grinned, shook his head and then corralled the dog, leading it to the door and putting it outside.
“We’re sorry,” Lanny said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s not ours. He just walked in with us. We thought he belonged here.”
Everyone laughed and we were soon the hit of the party, all the guests wanting to hear just how stupid we felt.
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