Dear Journal:
Well, there we were. The Wrinklies, guards, and me and my inner circle. The sky was clear, the temperature comfy, and no apparent problems looming on the horizon. Most of the Wrinklies had moved to a clear section next to us and were setting up (with help from the staff) for a game of ‘dodge the plate’.
Meanwhile, the rest of us had laid out the basement architectural plans, and were debating the best method of invading the underworld. Wine goblets and food were passed around with a good time being had by all. After a while, the old Senator and the lady dozed off, while Brother and the Tribune went to check the picnic area and gab with the guards. I sat back against a tree and let my mind wander off on it’s own, free from the everyday concerns of the Roman Empire.
Everything seemed idyllic for once. Of course, as everyone who reads this Journal knows,things never stay idyllic for long. I must have dozed off because the next thing I heard was a godawful racket coming from another area of the park.
Getting to my feet I looked for Brother. Gone.
Next, the Tribune. Nowhere to be found.
However there was a distant wuffing back among the trees. I frantically looked for Mutts and/or Titans. Tiny and Mutt Three came up missing. Several guards pointed toward the far end of the park where the racket was punctuated by cries of “Down Tiny!!” and “Help!! It’s that hellhound again!!”
Resounding wuffs could also be heard after every ruff as well as shouts of “Mutt Three! Come back here!! Leave the poor man alone!”
In an instant I knew what was happening. It was the Meat Vendor again. In our haste to enjoy ourselves we had forgotten to warn the poor man of our presence. The last time we had been there Tiny had formed an attachment to the Meat Vendor. Actually, it was the Vendor’s wares that Tiny was most interested in.
Thus it was that, with two guards in tow, I came across a scene of chaos and almost comical confusion. The poor vendor was, once again, up the nearest tree with Tiny ruffing happily at the tree’s base. Mutt Three was actually trying to block the Titan’s path to the almost hysterical vendor. Brother and the Tribune were desperately trying to corral the two wrinklies without much luck.
Brother finally got the excited Legion Mutt to come trotting back to him, while Mutt Three ambled happily over to the Tribune. I got the terrified vendor to come down after much coaxing and assurances of his safety. The poor man seemed only half convinced as he climbed down while warily eyeing Tiny who just smiled and wagged. That was definitely something to see.
The vendor cheered up considerably when I purchased all of his wares at double the going prices. So it was that, once again, we carted all of that meat back to the picnic while the vendor closed up and went home for the day. And so we returned from our little foray and right into the middle of (shudder) plate wars.
The Roman View 
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