Whistleblower

Yesterday, Steve, Bry, and I took an impromptu trip to the Minneapolis Central Library via: (1) the light rail and (2) Au Bon Pain. The light rail was a major hit, though Bry insisted that it had a steam engine. The library was a veritable treasure trove of truck-related books, of which we brought home more than our share.

Lunch at Au Bon Pain was nice too. Steve and I polished off our sandwiches at a semi-normal pace, and then waited for Bry to gnaw through his egg and bacon bagel for approximately the next 80 hours. He is a sloooooow eater.

So Steve and I were waiting, amusing ourselves by commenting on the younger, hipper, more fashionably dressed crowd that congregates at lunch joints downtown. In the one .05 second window during which neither of us had our eyes on Bry, we were snapped out of our reveries by a sharp TWEEEEEET!

See that cord around his neck? Just before we left on our outing, Bry spotted an errant whistle, nestled amidst the mound of camping flotsam and jetsam waiting to be put away after our recent canoe trip. I tweeted it for him once, he loved it, and wandered around the house for several minutes, mostly slobbering into it, but occasionally producing a little tweet-tweet.

During lunch, either Bry did not feel that Steve and I were paying adequate attention to him, or he felt we were just a little too relaxed. At any rate, during the aforementioned brief window of not monitoring his every move (he was seriously taking forever to eat that bagel), Bry drew the whistle to his lips and produced an earsplitting TWEEEEET! that stopped every single conversation in that restaurant dead. I was too mortified to look around very much, but Steve reassured the other patrons and the restaurant staff that all was well. According to Steve, after the onlookers realized it was Bry who had blown the whistle, they were all smiles.

After he got over the initial upset of thinking that he had done something wrong, Bry was all smiles too, saying, "That was a good little joke."