What it takes to get an old dog down steps

Macarthur approaches ten years old. That’s considered pretty old for a mastiff. He’s getting very gray, he’s a little creaky, a little cranky, and he doesn’t see or hear very well anymore. Mostly Macarthur sleeps.
Until tonight when he noticed the cat outside the kitchen window. It was the yellow stray who has been living under the front steps for the past six or so months. He’s a nice quiet cat, staying out of our way, killing the mice, and generally not bothering anyone. A nice minimum drama kind of cat.
Macarthur hates cats. The cat in question was less than six feet from Macarthur, separated by a double pane of glass. Macarthur, generally willing to let us think he is blind and deaf, let out a great window rattling WOOF! Woof, woof, woof! His hair stood up, and he pranced from window to window looking for a way to get to that cat. The cat, frozen in place under the ugly bushes, heard the dog and was staring directly into the eyes of the big, now frothy mouthed dog.
After ten minutes of frantic barking and running from window to window Macarthur (undetterred by the promise of treats) seemed determined to go after the cat (it had wisely slunk under the steps). So I told Macarthur if he went down the sunroom steps (something he hasn’t done in two years) he could go out and get the cat.
Damn if the old dog didn’t just scamper down those steps like he was youngster.
I didn’t let him out. He would have torn those steps apart trying to get to that cat. I figure we are even, playing each other as fools.
What would you bet that dog won’t go down those steps in the morning.

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