I am not the most graceful ballerina.

If there is an object to trip on, my paws will find it.
Anything that can break, will, if it spends
any length of time in my presence.
“Fragile” is Italian for "don't let DB touch that."

I fell over in the locker room the other day while trying to put on
my undies. My toe got caught, and down I went, like a naked,
pink stack of playing cards.
I think the entire Y is still laughing at me.

Add one fursuit, and the whole world is in danger…

Out for a stroll around Newport, I stopped in to say hullo to
the crew at the Rockin’ Baja Lobster. Super nice folks and
a very casual bar mean that I always pop in to give them
the happy paws and chat up the diners.

Stacy greeted me at the door and gave me a hug, and Raul
the bartender yelled for me to come and have a drink.
However, before I could answer, I felt a saucy patron
behind give me a smack on the mutt butt.
It was a good one, too. Open handed. A real wallop.

Tempted to ignore the spanking, and thirsty for a cold
beer, I practiced restraint.
“First things first,” I thought to myself.
Instead of going straight to the bar, I whirled playfully
to see who was being so bold with the dog cheeks,
and in doing so promptly knocked an entire pot of hot
coffee off of the burner and onto the tile floor…
where it shattered…
spraying hot brown liquid over 90% of the restaurant.

Oops.

The entire joint went silent. The coffee spread like an
entity across the floor.
A baby cried.
The mutt stood still, wrinkling his plastic nose and wondering
what to do next.

They didn’t cover this type of thing in fursuiting 101.

Now, normally, I’d of grabbed a rag, or a mop, or taken
off my shirt and got to cleaning up the mess, but I really
didn’t want to get coffee all over my white paws and I
sure didn’t want to make things worse by taking off my
head or part of the suit and causing the baby to cry even louder.

I needn’t have worried. When you work in a restaurant, you
get used to spills, and these folks were ready.
Before I could utter an apology, the cleaning crew
descended upon my mess and even consoled the highly
embarrassed mutt whilst they sopped up the java.

“No harm done,” they assured me. “Happens all the time.”

They were just being nice, as I doubt that they get
many talking dogs breaking coffee pots after a butt smack.

Things soon returned to normal, and the clatter of dishes and the hum
of idle chit chat mercifully replaced the heavy silence.

I slowly and carefully made my way to the bar, and Raul put an
ice pack on my bruised ego with a cold Corona.

I took a sip and felt better.
Soon, a young lady sat down next to me, looking slightly mournful.
She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry about that," she offered quietly.
"I'm the one that spanked you."

She looked so sad and small sitting there that I had no choice
but to give her a hug and tell her not to worry.
"I know these cheeks are irresistible," I said with a laugh.
She gave me a smile and hugged me back and all seemed right
with the world.

It was then I reached for my beer, and promptly dumped it
all over the counter.

The young lady giggled. Raul sighed and produced a clean
bar towel. "Maybe you should stick to un-spillable beers from
now on," he said with a laugh, and pointed to the neon
Corona bottle on the wall.

Of course, he's right. I'm dog enough to admit it when I'm
beaten. There was a gravity storm in the bar that night and
I was in the center.

I got a quick picture with my safety beer, wished everyone
a good night, and skedaddled.
I'm sure they were glad to see my tail clear the door.

Life is a learning experience.
One must maintain a good sense of the absurd at all times, and
be able to find the humor in your own mistakes.

I'm applying for a patent for Velcro beer bottles.
And rubber coffee pots...