Yesterday after work, I took Rosie for a quick walk through our neighborhood. Regardless of how many times I put her leash on her, every single time I reach for it, it’s literally the best moment of her life. Seriously, she’s that excited EVERY SINGLE TIME. And that’s fine. I’d like to be able to get that excited about walking, but I pretty much only exhibit that kind of excitement when Chris asks if I want to order a pizza.
Anyway, our neighborhood is a loop, so it’s easy to do a quick walk and wind up right back where we started. So we set off west until we hit the curve and turned south.
It’s worth noting here that the curve is where Rosie, my sweet angel of a pit bull-beagle-boxer mix “sexts” her boyfriend. I mean, not really because she doesn’t have a phone. But there is one specific spot on that curve where she pees every single time. And I like to think she pees there, and then some boy dog leaves her a message back. And since kids don’t pass notes anymore like we did in the 1990s, I’m sure she must be sexting.
After making her mark, we continued around the curve and headed back east. Then, rather than take the full loop around our neighborhood, I picked a street covered in shady trees and we headed back north. And that’s when we came upon Rosie’s playdate.
I had seen him before, since he’s always in the front yard without a leash. He’s definitely a mix breed. If I had to guess, I’d say he is part pit bull, part pony keg. Seriously, this dog is a barrel on four, short legs. And he growls VICIOUSLY.
Now, Rosie is a pit bull, amongst other things, so I make an effort not to judge other pit bulls. In my experience, pits aren’t mean. In fact, they are cuddle beasts. But let’s be real. You have no idea how other people are raising their dogs, and there is a demographic of dog owners who purchase pit bulls for all the wrong reasons.
So, as he growled louder and louder, Rosie tackled him. And that was that. Because they just played like two furry goobers. I wanted to have a panic attack, but I didn’t have to. Luckily, little pit keg is just as good-natured as Rosie. And I wish the story ended there with me and Rosie going home after a fun little wrestle, and pit keg staying at his house. But it didn’t end there, because I got to meet pit keg’s owner.
I looked up and saw pit keg’s owner smilling and walking my way from his garage. On the wall in the garage were no less than two rebel flags, one of which had an AR-15 screenprinted on it with the phrase “If you want it, come and take it.”
Naturally, I assumed he was going to murder me.
“Trigger! Did you find yourself a friend?” He asked as his dog rolled on the ground while Rosie continually tackled him. (She doesn’t know when to quit.)
Of course this man would name a perfectly adorable and sweet pit keg “Trigger.” It’s also worth noting that this man was wearing jeans, black shoes, no shirt, and a hand gun in a holster on his hip. (If you haven’t mentally filled in the blanks with a terrible farmer’s tan and patchy mustache, please do so now.) I don’t know a single person who gets home from work and makes sure they have their open carry weapon on them as they chat with the neighbors, but this dude did.
Anyway, I’m telling you all this because I can’t walk my dog anymore. At least, I can’t walk Rosie in our neighborhood. Because Mr. No Shirt Handgun Farmer’s Tan Creepy Stache wants me to bring Rosie over any time so she can play with Trigger. (Can I rename Trigger something better, like Hector or Buff? He’s not a Trigger.) And if I have to have another conversation with him, there’s a big chance that I’ll ask him if he insists on adorning his person and his home with symbols of over-the-top masculinity because his dick is that small.
And that’s not really something you ask someone with a gun, now is it?