It was one more of those social gatherings in ancient style at this really small place called Rio Grande. All dressed in ancient style, with walking sticks that they didn't actually need when they were men, and tops that go under other tops with the objective of constraining obesity to bearable levels when they were women; things that took them hours to put in place.
In the background, sounds that today are called funeral sounds. An ancient style maid goes around offering liquor.
Glasses that cover only one eye and hang from chains of gold are seen everywhere in the living room.
A dog of style, of those whose bodies make waves, so elegant, of really long legs and spine, is resting in a relaxed way under the chair of this really fat man, who is perhaps a relative of the KFC Colonel. People are so polite that their conversation sounds like murmur.
All of a sudden, a noise, a very loud noise. Everyone seems to lightly direct their eyes to where the KFC man is. He quickly responds to their interest: Jolile (the dog), get out of there, Jolile, and go for a walk.
Jolile is not his dog, and therefore remains under his chair.
Some good ten minutes pass and the Colonel gets the attention of all once more, all that thing of lightly turning eyes, and the response comes in a flash this time: Oh, oh, Jolile, please go for a walk. I don't understand why you are still there. Once more, Jolile was not his dog, so that Jolile looks at him, understands, but does not comply.
Good thirty minutes pass and here comes the scene again, all the same, but, this time, before the KFC man releases the token that is directed to Jolile, her owner intervenes: Jolile, get out of there immediately before this man releases his excrement over you!