Most dogs have a habit of kicking their hind legs to cover up their business.1 But my dog has a habit of kicking his business.
So I’m standing on the corner of my street, texting.
Harley finishes his business, and I am not paying attention so I don’t catch him before he starts to kick his back legs and launches his business into the air.
Poo flies everywhere. I hear screaming from around the corner:
Mel: “WHAT WHAT WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT SHIT? WHO IS THROWING SHIT?!”
Mel turns the corner and glares at me. Molly is sporting her standard uniform of daisy dukes, flip flops, dirty white tank top, and the overstuffed Cub grocery bag…and she is livid.
Mel: “Why, it’s that BIG ASS DOG again! And he throws shit now!
Mel (talking to the dog): “You think throwing shit is funny? THROWING YO SHIT AT PEOPLE DOG! YOU CANNOT DO THAT! You’re exactly what’s wrong with this country. YOU ARE A TERRORIST! TERRORIST!”
Harley walks towards Molly and she storms off screaming “terrorist.”
I exchange wtf-looks with the Somali men at the bus stop and keep it moving…
About ten minutes later I’m near Loring Park, texting again, and not paying attention to the crazy she-mullet approaching.
This lady had a fountain of spiky 80’s hair with an extra long rat tail. I really suspect she fluffed out a dead cat and decided to wear it as a headpiece, but maybe she just wants to bring back 80’s Tina Turner.
Tina: “Is that dog named Caesar?!”
Me: “Uh… no. He is not named Caesar.”
Tina: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Quite.”
Tina (bending down to pet): “Oh, well, I see a couple walking a dog like this all the time, and their dog is named Caesar!”
The full line of questioning and cooing followed – how old is he? Oh what a sweet dog! Is he mixed with anything? What a cute baby! Yes you are! How is his temperament? Oooh gimme kisses!
I almost felt like telling her about the poo flinging incident but didn’t want to prolong the Vh1 flashback.
We get away from Tina and turn the corner. We near the 19 Bar when a short stocky guy walks out from the bar’s parking lot. He reminds me of Buzz Lightyear, minus the cool costume.
Buzz: “Cute dog.”
Me: “Thank you.”
I start to wonder if Buzz is cute or not when Buzz’s cologne hits me. Actually, the cologne doesn’t just hit me, but it punches me in the gut, drags me around the corner, and then waterboards me. That’s how bad it was.
Buzz: “Are you okay?”
Me (gagging and wincing): “Oh, I’m fine. Have a nice day.”
Buzz looks at me like, “freak.” And prances into the bar. Buzz’s toxic cloud2 followed.
I hope tomorrow’s walk around Calhoun is less eventful.
1 Yes, this post starts with dog poop. Welcome to 1L summer!
2 And I swear my clothes smell of whatever cologne he showered in. He’s wearing it for the entire bar…my goodness.
