So I went to the laziness dogpark again this morning. I’m calling it that now because the weather is getting colder and I find that “morning me” is not as inspired to trudge through the wet freezing cold woods as much now that all the pretty leaves have gone. The sexiness is “so over’ with that place.
So I go to the Laziness Park (LP) …or Bell Branch Dog Park. And what I do there is avoid the lady in the white van and her pet Cujo - the uncontrolled giant attack rat that is currently passing as a dog.
I dislike her and her dog equally. They come as a set in my mind. I believe her actions have enabled Cujo to reach the point where he has attacked my person and my canine offspring every one of the three times I have made the unfortunate decision to go near her. I would like to load a dogshit cannon and aim it at her.
But that sounds expensive. And messy. So I won’t.
She was there when I arrived at LP this morning so I had to take dumb and dumber over to walk through the soccer fields until she finally left. When I was about done with my walk I noticed that people I recognize as non-threats had just arrived - so I went into the large dog area to waste more time with them.
I like this group. Very interesting people. Happily they all arrived within 2 minutes of shitforbrains leaving.
Bob was there with Heidi. Bob is currently sporting his “winter look”. He has the same ridiculous docksiders (circa 1927) – they did not fare well during the great war. But Bob is spiritually connected to these shoes …so we just look the other way. He is still wearing bright white socks - as can be seen through the giant hole in the side. God bless the person who does his laundry. But he has added some jeans and a jacket…and I think it’s a look that will do really well this season. Heidi is still eating rocks. And Bob is still trying to communicate to her that that is less than a stellar idea – but cussing at her and pelting her with the same rocks from 8 inches away. This is exactly the way The Dog Whisperer would have handled the training.
Also at the park this morning - Roseanne and Jimmy. I have seen Roseanne there multiple times and talked to her – I guess I was just lax in giving her a fake name until just now. Her husband Jimmy was exiting the park as I was arriving – he has his own exercise regime for humans that seems to require a GPS. He was quite nice as I was passing him – all smiles – and then he asked me “I hear you write about the Dog Park online and I can’t find it.
uhm…yes. Occasionally I will write about coming here.
(internal thoughts – he isn’t Amy’s father, by any chance? Is he? Cause I don’t want to be hated anymore this month. I have met my quota.)
So I just told him the name of the blog and went along my way.
On my last outing to the dogpark (where I wasn’t attacked by Cujo) – I mentioned to Bob that his name is “Bob”. He seemed confused at first and then told me his real name – which I suppose he intended for me to use – but it was the same name as my ex-husband. And I believe that that name actually creates stomach acid in me. So I let him know that his name would be Bob -for pretty much eternity – with me. He was fine with that and now has grown accustomed to his new moniker.
Roseanne and Jimmy have a small fast moving pet named Butter – I think. He moves so fast that you just never know if that is the dog named Butter. Interesting name. I happen to like butter ‘the food’ – so I am okay with Butter ‘the dog’. But if we were to get down to brass tacks – the dog is curry colored. If Butter continues to exhaust Thor I will buy her/him (really low to the ground dog) a large Christmas gift. I like Thor tired. He’s more pliable in getting in and out of the car.
“Sailor Guy” was also at the park this morning and shared an interesting story with us. It seems that a while back his paycheck had a discrepancy of about $10,000. . (In his favor). And he called payroll to alert them to the issue. (Note – the message he left for the payroll dept was “I am having an issue with my paycheck. Please call me.”) Then reported the issue to his direct supervisor - who asked “Did you report it to payroll. “Yes.” And then he waited a short while. Being very quiet - small as a mouse - as you do when you are sitting on someone else’s $10,000 accounting error. And then he put it into a CD and just let it accrue interest.
And that is the end of his story. (blink blink) And most possibly how he got his start in boating. They never came after the money and he seems to be just fine with the way things turned out. As evidenced by the way he smiles though absolutely every conversation he attends. Bastard got a free 10 grand! THAT’S why he smiles.
Why does that not happen to me? Because the damn IRS knows where I fricking live – that’s why. They’ll come back to me saying that the error was $20k and where is the other 10?? He’s just lucky.
IRS – if you are listening – sailor guy is the one in the orange Helly Hansen jacket with the black dog that would sell it’s soul for an good ass scratch. Go get him.
For some reason I just bet that Sailor guy knows my uncle.
Anyhooo – after the dog park today I went back to the (home) office to finish up revisions for west coast workers and got stuck being hypnotized by the bloody British dog training shows again. It’s like crack. I can’t help it. You would think some of it would have rubbed off on me and my dogs would now be trained – but no. Maybe I’ll tape a milk bone to the TV and we can watch and learn together. I went and had lunch with my new team. If you don’t know - I was ‘traded’ by the networks the other day. I am now at TLC. As exciting as that may seem – I really don’t think it’s programming for the high IQ set. It’s all about make-over’s and insulting other people’s outfit’s and people who are dumb enough to have like 12 children.
But it has the tattoo shows. And those guys look odd enough to follow for a while.
Okay – we’re about to order pizza from the new Vocelli Pizza on Rt. 3. And there seems to be a language barrier. Not one that will make the pizza taste better. I need to be involved - I need to assure myself that no fruit will arrive on the crust. That is Pizza death. Death, I tell you.