Adventures on the Front Lawn

“Does that look like there is a dog on our front porch?” I asked General Mayhem. We had just turned the corner onto our street while returning home from a VBS planning session. Our church’s VBS program this year is “Adventure on the High Seas,” but our program director made it perfectly clear that we are not doing anything piratey. No pirates. That means no Captain Jack and no chasing Somali pirates and shooting them. No lusty wenches or yo-ho-ho’s or bottles o’ rum.

Shoot.

How can we have high seas adventures without piratey stuff? We could pretend to be on a cruise ship and hold a shuffle board tournament. Or get mass food poisoning. The Bible tells us to put on the armor of God. Did He have a Navy, too? Can we command the Battleship Bethlehem and go to war against evil? Moby Dick? Jaws? Are we on the high seas? Should I dress like Cheech and Chong and lead the kids in some far out, groovy games? I really don’t know what the non-piratey adventure will be.

But I digress. There was a dog on my front stoop.

“Yes, it does,” General Mayhem replied to the question that opened this post.

Sure enough, Reggie the Rent-a-dog was sitting on the front stoop. She’s not supposed to be out of our backyard. I suppose that sitting on our front stoop was better than roaming the neighborhood or sitting in the city pound. When we pulled into the driveway she walked to the car, tail between her legs, happy to see us but well aware of the fact that she was where she was not supposed to be.

Right next to a chicken.

I wasn’t certain whether I should scold the mutt for being out or praise her for not running the hood. I ended up looking at her sternly, which elicited a droopy, hesitant tail wag. She was wet from playing in the Captain’s wading pool. I knew exactly what I needed to say to the chicken.

“Bad chicken!” I said.

“Bra-kaw!”replied Clumsy, before walking off in the opposite direction.

Chickens, I have discovered, really don’t respond well to “Bad chicken.”

A little while later, Reggie the Rent-a-dog demonstrated how she escaped the back yard when I put her out back, walked to the front, and called her. She’s bent the metal on the gate to our backyard, pushing aside the chain link with her snout to squeeze through to freedom. Apparently, she takes a chicken or two with her.

Maybe we should hold VBS in my front yard and call it Adventures on the Front Lawn.

Arrgh.