Life with Jesus

Pog Dark

Senility seems to be growing on me in my old age. I am losing my ability to {filter my thoughts and/or consider how I put things might actually affect others} at an alarming rate. No surprise that this happens most often at the dog park, where nature runs its course and animal instincts are at their best.

Tonight, Alex and I took Gracie to our local dog park so she could get a good run around and sniff some butts. Gracie takes a few minutes to warm up and then she will venture off without caring much where Alex and I are. Unless, of course, she finds a ball. Then nothing else exists for her except that stinking fuzzy orb. That dog would love Hitler if he would throw a tennis ball for her. It’s a personality flaw of hers that we’re working on.

Anyway, tonight was a normal night of me sitting and talking about how ugly and horrible all the other dogs are and Alex shushing me because I’m talking too loud and the owner is standing right there. (An aside- I get this from my father. He’s infamous in our immediate family for talking incredibly loud and sometimes inappropriately. So, blame him, not me!) There was this one particularly scruffy little black dog that looked like he was in need of a bath and a comb STAT! I remarked to Alex that it looked homeless. Of course, a few minutes later, he ran over to the woman next to me who called him “Pickles” and let him lick her face in a familiar way. Oops! Earlier, I had already had a brief exchange with her about how she didn’t let her dogs kiss her on the lips, so I thought I would make some more conversation. Let’s lead it off with:

“Do you know what kind of dog it is?”

Not “What kind of dog is that? It’s so cute!” but “Do you even know what kind of dog that is because it looks like some mangy mut in need of a haircut?” She pertly told me that it was an “Affenpinscher” and then qualified it with, “An affenpinscher actually won {insert some international dog show here}.” Trying to backpedal, I then tried to express to her how affable and friendly the dog was but I wasn’t sure what pronoun to use because “Pickles” isn’t a particularly gender-specific name. So I guessed and went with a “he” which was probably wrong because she gave me the “You’re an idiot” look and then walked away. Really? Cause this is what her dog looked like…

 

 

 

Can’t be too sensitive, can we, lady?

Moving on, after she left, another cute lady with her teenage son and THREE dogs came and parked next to us.One of the dogs was a big old ranch dog that had two different colored eyes (creepy!) who growled at Gracie and made her screech. One of the dogs was a big fluffy, fat, white dog with a head shaped like a pumpkin. I commented to Alex on how large the dog’s head was shortly before the dog tried to sit on Gracie. As Gracie screeched her “OH MY GOSH, you’re going to kill me!” screech, the nice lady stood up and said, “Tubby! Stop that! Stop that, Tubby!” I thought Tubby was an appropriate, if ironic, name for such a large dog. Clever, even. Although, if you name your puppy Tubby, what kind of body type can that dog really grow up to have. You’re giving it a complex before you even get it spayed or neutered. Alex said it’s like naming a baby “Obese” and hoping for the best.

Anyway, I joined in and said, “It’s okay, Tubby. Sit on her. Gracie needs a good scare.”

(Another aside: I took Gracie by myself to the big dog park one time and these two giant bear dogs not only chased her down and cornered her, but LAID ON HER. It was a literal dog pile- HA! The only way I knew she was under there was because I could hear her screeching. I couldn’t (wouldn’t) do anything about it because I didn’t know how to move those behemoths. Maybe Tubby was giving her flashbacks to this trauma in her life.)

I continued to call the dog Tubby for a good  five minutes, until I turned to ask Alex a question. At this point, Tubby sat on Gracie again and his owner said, “TOBY. STOP.”

Uh oh.

Toby? You said Tubby, lady.

I hope she doesn’t hate me but it’s really not my fault that she can’t clearly enunciate her words…

Sorry, Tubby. I hope I didn’t give you a complex.

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