Boys in Da Hood

So The Woman and I were cruisin' the hood. She wanted to go to the Farmer's Market which is fine with me because there are plenty of adoring fans awaiting my arrival. As we were walkin' down my street, we passed a "Tag Sale" (aka Garage Sale aka Yard Sale aka "honey, clean out the attic and let's sell some of this junk" sale) and there, sittin' right there in the yard

is a Shiba Inu.

His name is Buddy and he is 8 years old.

Our eyes locked. We begin to shuffle, posturin' to see who is bigger, better. Our Women, they are laughin', talkin' about us. Buddy and me, we pass the evil eye to one another.

Buddy is about my size and weight. He has my look, that look of intimidation, that look of righteousness. But this is my street, and he ain't nuthin' but a visitor to my turf. He needs to respect my rights.

But he don't. Buddy, he stands tall in the yard, and watches me, waitin' to see if I am going to make the first move. I don't. I am not gonna start a war on my own street with two Labs living down the road and an impressionable Cocker Spaniel across the street. We just stand there, locked eyes, never blinkin'.

No words pass between us, just side looks and body movement.

Eventually, The Women stop their chatter and we move on, where I immediately lay claim to several bushes and one telephone pole, just to prove my point.

On our way back, we pass The House again. Buddy stands and squints, showing me that he is alert to my presence. I keep walkin', tail high and head forward, but I pee on the corner of The House Shrubbery to remind him whose street this really is. A shopper comments loudly, "they could be brothers."

No, we ain't no brothers. We are The Highlanders. We Are Samurai of our Hood.


I Am Shiba. There Can Be Only One.