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ffloWe did long leash wandering at Buhr, after a somewhat frustrating start, when a guy with a little yappy white terrier got his extend-a retractable wire of a lead wrapped all around me and Lula. Then the dogs went (predictably) nuts and when my ankle was strangled by that damn thing I used the F word, readers. In the form of "That fuckin' hurts."
Once Lu & I were finally untangled from that, dude showed no sign of departure. I don't know if he was thick, or what. And again I cared not how rude I was or wasn't--- "How about you move on now," said I, or something like that. "Move on" was in there. I guess "Step the fuck off" would have been more direct, but there was no doubt about my sincerity.
I'm not accustomed to taking such a tone, even with a thick bloke. But it's not as shocking as my historic "Listen, MAC" moment, in Baltimore, back in the day. While I stood there trying to keep Lula still to unknot her 50-foot cotton line, which'd just before the encounter been neatly coiled and ready for her to take off and play as soon as she passed another "Walk with me" and "Sit," I really didn't give a shit what Mister Thick of the Yapper thought or felt.
Not so evolved in the Namaste mode I prefer to be in, but evolved nonetheless.
When we got back to the 'hood I took her up the block and back. She found a toy football somewhere, as she suddenly had it in her mouth, trotting along. I let her bring it into the house, and we played fetch with it before I finally got her breakfast. But here's the rub: she's tired now, and that was going to be my time to get after housework things, but I"m tired now too! Making her tired makes me tired.
There goes Bert. He's driving to his doc's. Has had some bug thing(s) pretty bad these past few days.
I think Carlos and I are having a knife-sharpening party tonight. He knows what he's doing that way, 'sgonna show me how. Traditionally I'm much more the wooden utensil oiling type. But sharp knives are good, for cutting. And that's what knives are for.
Once Lu & I were finally untangled from that, dude showed no sign of departure. I don't know if he was thick, or what. And again I cared not how rude I was or wasn't--- "How about you move on now," said I, or something like that. "Move on" was in there. I guess "Step the fuck off" would have been more direct, but there was no doubt about my sincerity.
I'm not accustomed to taking such a tone, even with a thick bloke. But it's not as shocking as my historic "Listen, MAC" moment, in Baltimore, back in the day. While I stood there trying to keep Lula still to unknot her 50-foot cotton line, which'd just before the encounter been neatly coiled and ready for her to take off and play as soon as she passed another "Walk with me" and "Sit," I really didn't give a shit what Mister Thick of the Yapper thought or felt.
Not so evolved in the Namaste mode I prefer to be in, but evolved nonetheless.
When we got back to the 'hood I took her up the block and back. She found a toy football somewhere, as she suddenly had it in her mouth, trotting along. I let her bring it into the house, and we played fetch with it before I finally got her breakfast. But here's the rub: she's tired now, and that was going to be my time to get after housework things, but I"m tired now too! Making her tired makes me tired.
There goes Bert. He's driving to his doc's. Has had some bug thing(s) pretty bad these past few days.
I think Carlos and I are having a knife-sharpening party tonight. He knows what he's doing that way, 'sgonna show me how. Traditionally I'm much more the wooden utensil oiling type. But sharp knives are good, for cutting. And that's what knives are for.
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Date: Nov. 4th, 2011 04:32 pm (UTC)