Every two weeks or so, I take the dogs down to the local Pet Supplies Plus store to give the pups a bath, leaving them with the mess. It’s OK, they say so in their ads. I buy a multi-wash card and have at it.
The dogs know the phrase “Bath Time”. This time, it was Jet who made it to the car first. When I came back after his bath to grab another, Jasper won the prize by rocketing to the car first.
I have no idea how party-boy wound up with a bra around his neck. Probably by trying to get into the treat closet, the door of which Herself hangs things to dry.
I’ve been off all week, and had big plans for big work. But I took a battering helping the boy fix his car, and have been trying to stave off a cough. It wasn’t until halfway through the week that the old-man aches and pains went away and I got any sort of energy back.
It’s been chilly most of the week, and the dogs have been loving their walks. The oaks seem to have dropped their leaves early this year. Don’t know what that means, but for whatever reason the pups have to inspect every pile of leaves we come upon. And I’ve been paying attention. It’s just the oak leaves that interest them. I can say one thing for sure, if you have a yard with a pile of leaves by the sidewalk, use gloves because every dog that passes by pees on them.
As I’ve walked them, my achy old man mood soured as I contemplated the amount of self centeredness and lack of civic virtue around here.
I ran upon more than a normal amount of dogshit left in yards. A good neighbor would pick up their dogs droppings. Some people have this attitude that it’s others that will clean up after them. These landmines have two effects on me. First is, every pile, and I mean every one, has to be inspected by the pack. Which means, I’m having to tug at the leashes more and more. Second is, homeowners are rightly pissed that someone left a dook for them, and I get hollered at from time to time. And why not? Dude walking three dogs, it must have been him. I assure you, I pick up after my dogs. I don’t like them pooping in my front yard either.
By the way, this is a nice neighborhood. The least expensive houses go for over $400K, the most $1.4M. People that can afford to live here should know better.
Along the way, we run into all sorts of types. Many of them the same people I see every day, usually walking their dogs. This is a challenge, since the Jasper is still a pup and goes nuts when he sees another dog. He’s getting better. It’s a process. For the most part, one or another of us will cross the street. Or, they see a potential conflict and change their path. I do that all the time.
But not everyone. I’ve had them walk right in front of me this week. I’ve had them walk straight at us, but in the street. And worse, the one old man that lets his dog off the leash walked behind me, and when one of mine went to take a dump, walked past. From the point where he crossed to the street I was on, there are two other parallel streets, not 50 yards in either direction. Yet, he just went and did that. This is the dude I see nearly every day. He’s seen me many, many times.
As we get to the park, of course each day there’s been some numbnuts that thinks it’s a dog park and lets their dog run. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve run up to my three and all hell broke loose. I vowed next time it will be leashes down, and a price will be paid. The leash law is posted prominently in the park, as is the poop-bag dispenser telling you to clean up after your dogs. Yeah. That happens.
This is a neighborhood park, but it is public. And after the weekends there’s always party debris around. How lazy and inconsiderate does one have to be to leave your drink cups to fly off the table and litter the ground, when there’s a trash bin not thirty feet away? Hell, even in my misguided youth, I knew to clean up after myself in public spaces. My mom would excoriate us for making a worker have to clean up after us. She grew up poor and had a deep resentment for those that thought it beneath them to perform such niceties as cleaning up after yourself.
I guess they think the little people maid service will be by to handle things.
I picked up the two WhataBurger cups in my path and put them in the bin with my poop bags.
Turning back from the park we hit joggers. Real ones, actually jogging. For the most part these guys know to cross, go to the street, or I will cross. Except one old-man numbnuts. Another geezer I see nearly every day. One who, I’m certain, has been charged by the dogs for being an idiot.
What does he do?
Runs straight up behind us on the sidewalk.
How stupid do you have to be? The only reason hell didn’t break loose is I noticed Jethro kept looking back. So I saw the idiot and moved them onto a yard to sit out his eminence’s passing. The thought passed my mind to simply let them loose to chase his ass down the street. Then again, he’s ancient and clearly in the process of turning his posture into a question mark. That kind of pounding isn’t good for old bones.
Enough ranting. It’s the weekend. I have things to do.
Every day we’ve gotten back and the pack chased balls in the yard until they were wasted and panting, and I went on about my day of loafing and complaining.
Inspected By Pat 