As James approached the weird looking animal, an overly cautious look came across his face. He looked up at the female owner and suspiciously asked, "What dog is dis?"
I believe he was asking for the breed, but since the dog obviously had none the owner happily replied, "This is Rufus."
James pursed his lips and nodded. "Uh huh."
"What's your dog," she asked?
"She es a heyground," he replied. "Her name es Gracie and she es a heyground."
The woman giggled because, you know, greyhound...heyground, it's beyond cute if you ask me (and if you disagree, it's probably because your private parts are East of Russia and you're all worked up and cranky about it).
Then, in all seriousness, James looked up at me, pointed toward Rufus--who was panting, wagging, and I swear he was smiling--and said, "Spway dat dog, Mommy. You gotta spway dat dog."
That's right. James wanted me to give old Rufus a blast with my pepper spray--just for being ugly.
As we continued down the trail, I explained to James that pepper spray is only to be used on very angry animals or real life bad guys--not an innocent dog who could benefit from a box of hair dye and a set of braces.
He still hasn't wrapped his mind around the concept.