We had additional sleep on Friday because of the dentisting. A strange thing-as you get longer in the tooth-you're happier to have the benefit of good dentisting and stuff but you forget the soreness/recovery involved not that I'm complaining. I grasp that, for lots of people-dental stuff is a luxury item.
So, we woke up early enough for the Saturday dog park.
Got there and it was crowded and the dogs were extra nuts. Someone attributed it to the cold air but the humpers were humpier and the aggressive ones were aggressivier and all the dogs were twirling and chasing in mini-packs and all the people had their knees bent just in case but all was(generally speaking) swell.
I've noticed more and more that nobody wants to go home after the big park closes at 8:00 am. There's still sunshine to be absorbed on the back of your neck and conversations seem to have to be concluded before we're all covered in 10 layers of fleece but I gathered my walking home partners-Marilyn and Fresser and we started walking. Telling stories. Catching up. Blah blah blah. The usual.
We get to the house with the giant Newfoundland which is standing loose in the backyard and I see her and maybe I quickened my pace just a little bit because we've met before but everything seemed reasonably okay-more or less. Out from the back of the house comes the owner who signals to the dog that it's okay to come rampaging out to the front yard. I watched this the way you recall a car accident. You're aware of the micromovements eventho they are beyond your reach.
(Grantley is standing here watching me type. She either wants to reassure our reader(s) that she's absolutely okay or she's hoping I'm visiting pizzahut.com. Hope springs eternal in dogtown.)
So, it's actually not Grantley that has an altercation this time at this particular street corner and surprisingly, it's not the giant ill-mannered Newfie either. It's me and the guy.
I'm standing there and I'm saying words to the effect of: hey. Get your dog on a leash. Please.(That is, I hope I at least started out attempting to be friendly but I'm kinda thinking I probably was not, because unpleasantry was the name o' the larger game. To be fair, you can replace the word 'please' with NOW. Yeah, that's closer to the truth.)
The man is saying words to the effect of: Who's gonna make me-no, in retrospect, that wasn't at all what he was saying. It was that he continued to push forward toward us with his unleashed barn yard animal of a dog-that's where it got threatening for me. The words were sort of inconsequential except that I wanted him to retreat and he didn't appreciate my insane insistence that he needed a leash because everyone else in the whole wide world has to use one because it's the law and oh yeah, these are animals we're talking about. (Kinda like a live version of Can This Marriage Be Saved? and the answer in this case is no. No, it can't. )
He wanted to talk about my reluctance to be around his loose dog with his dog on the loose. I wasn't having it. NFW.
He finally (finally!)grasped that the conversation was over and we were able to stroll away. My voice was seven octaves higher than it was ever intended to be, what I'm really not good at is live(or okay, any)conflict and I felt like an idiot in front of Marilyn. She said something like, You're one tough woman and I said, yeah? Well, he's an god dammed idiot.
Speaking of that, now it's up to me to decide which block on which to walk and so far we've opted to cross the street, yet not go a completely different way.
Beware of me.