Oh, the people you’ll meet When you're walking your dog Like Polly and Rhonda And Gord, thinks he’s God
Annoying as bed bugs, You certainly know You’ll duck in the bushes You’ll hide in the snow
So when you get trapped As you certainly will Enjoy the weird moment Or flee to Brazil
I bump into Podcast Polly and her pug, Perry during my Sunday morning dog walk.
Zero possibility of a quick dodge. Take a deep breath instead.
Our dogs’ greet each other; muzzles rummaging around pungent posteriors vigorously foraging for canine truffles.
“So Polly, what podcast you listening to?” I ask.
“My Favorite Murder."
Before I know it, she jams one of her ear buds into my virgin left ear.
The bud slides in a little too easy. Feels waxy.
“Blah blah blah,” Polly blabs while I do the post gross-out freeze, pretending that I’m listening. An art in itself.
“Hey Dave!” Rhonda yells from across the street, engaged in a tug-of-war with her stubborn beagle, Baby.
I pop out the waxy ear bud and flick it back to Polly.
Lucky I’m wearing gloves.
I dread meeting Rhonda, but at least I’m certain that there won’t be a surreptitious exchange of gamey bodily lubricants.
“I saw your wife at the supermarket,” Rhonda barks. Sigh. Here we go again.
“She was squeezing an eggplant.”
As I was being pulled into the Black Hole of Boring Conversation, I spot Gord and his Gordon setter, Gonzo, promenading down the avenue.
Problem solved organically and fortuitously — Rhonda hates Gord. So do I, but a chat with him beats tumbling into Rhonda’s Black Hole of Eggplant. “Eggplants were on special.”
What’s with eggplant anyways? Such a weird…berry?...Actually a berry, botanically speaking.
“Hey Gord!” I shout and wave.
I think his glasses have fogged up — I may be able to escape undetected, but what if Rhonda sees? She’s got a big mouth and according to Zev the Cherubic Stalker, she posts her dog walking highlights on her notorious blog, Yentah Terribentah.
So I walk towards Gord and draw a deep breath.
“Blah blah blah,” he rambles on about something I don’t care about. Then he slaps my shoulder, nudging me back into reality. A state of being I’m no good at. “You know I make a pretty good living. Pret-ty…darn…good,” Gord brags.
I feel the pull of the Black Hole of I Don't Care dragging me towards its event horizon.
“My dad may have been just a plumber, but…” Gord continues.
I know, I know that, Gord. You told me your boring story many a time. But the guy won’t let up. “My youngest son, Jasper just got into med school. Perfect score: three outta three kids doctors.” Meanwhile, I'm thinking, who names a kid, Jasper?
A coked-out squirrel scoots by. My dog DJ leaps into action pulling me along for the chase.
Saved by the squirrel. Phew!
Oh the people you’ll flee when you’re walking your dog.
