They say a tired puppy is a good puppy and that about sums it up.
I have a regular route around the neighborhood. It’s about a mile and a half, I think.
Our neighborhood is rather quiet. Sometimes, it feels like I’m walking on a movie set or in a ghost town. All I hear is barking dogs from inside houses or behind wooden fences. I occasionally see another live human being but not frequently.
So, this particular afternoon, we’re about halfway through our route. Lola is sniffing someone’s lawn and I hear a woman’s voice floating out a window.
“Get out of my yard!” she says.
I think to myself that she must be talking to neighborhood kids in the back, but wait. The yards in our neighborhood are all fenced in. Maybe she’s yelling at a rabbit or . . . wait. Wait.
“Stupid _______!” she mutters. (Censored for the delicate eyes that read this blog.)
Well. How odd, I thought.
We resume our walk. Two houses down, it dawns on me (I’m slow to catch on, sometimes).
Was she talking to ME? To Lola the Dog?
She was talking to ME!
The awkward, yet amusing thing is that I can’t quite remember from which house the disembodied voice came, so now I hurry past a string of three or four houses, wondering if someone who hates me and Lola for . . . sniffing her front lawn is watching, waiting, ready to throw raw eggs or call us even worse names. Unseen eyes may be watching and hating me.
Hey, lady! We’re nice people! Lola the Dog wasn’t even stepping on your grass. She didn’t pee (0r worse!) on your lawn. We weren’t even IN YOUR YARD. And did you know that your window was open and I could HEAR YOU?
I just wish I could remember which house you live in so I don’t have to walk so fast up that hill, fearing that you will yell at us again or send your mean evil eye glare our way.
Who needs a personal trainer to hurry you along when you can be prodded along by fear of a name-calling voice?