Winter is Coming: Part 3—The Nerd Cometh

Let’s recap.  Talking dog (again) who talks in (polite) riddles and doesn’t appreciate morbid humor. 

There, I think you are caught up.  Except for me being buried in bracket analysis.  Again.

The nerd dog spoke (I can’t believe I just wrote that) “I will repeat my earlier question.  What are you doing?”

“My annual exercise in futility”

“That didn’t answer my question but I understand what you meant.  Let me rephrase.  Do you know what you are doing?”

Ok, now he’s not only a nerd, he’s just down right condescending.

“You know, your predecessor was mean but I am not sure that he ever talked down to me like that”

“I did not mean to offend sir but, quite frankly, you are easily offended.”

Touche, I think.

“My only point is that I think you may be going about this whole bracket mess in the wrong manner”

“How in the hell could you know that?  You have only been alive for four months!”  Yes, I was incredulous, thus the exclamation point.

“My breed is a quick study.  Plus, you can learn a lot when you lie quiet for hours on end”

“I don’t know how you guys do it—I would be bored to tears.  I would probably start biting my own ankle, if I was you”

“Well, one way to pass the time is to listen”

My God!  He knows about the secret gambling account for Vegas!

“If it’s money you want,” I said frantically, “I can cut you 20% of the account.  Just don’t tell Danielle.”

“Why would I need money?  My owners, of which you have expertly point out you are one, provide everything I need.  Money would be a frivolous pursuit.”  I hate it when dogs are right.  Especially nerd dogs.  “Besides, what’s this about a gambling account?”

“But why do you care?  I thought you said you didn’t need anything.”

“True.  But I have a fiduciary duty to protect the interests of all my owners.  It is my duty to inform on any covert activities within the household”

“Mind your own business, Snowstorm”

“Do I have to remind you yet again that my actual name is Snowball?”

“Not unless you think I really care.”

“Well, that’s pretty rude when I’m trying to help”  He was right…and wrong.  I was rude but he’s not helping.  None of this is helping.

“You know what, Snowdrift, I have things to do.  Important things.  It might be time for you to assume the “bored dog that doesn’t talk” position again.”

“As you wish, sir.”  He dutifully turned around and trotted towards the rug. “But you might want to consider the BPI instead of the RPI when you make your picks this year”  With that, the horn-rimmed glasses and pocket protector were gone.  He turned three times and laid down.

He knows basketball?  And it has been firmly established that I do not.

Now what I do?

TO BE CONTINUED