Out Of Your Weight Class . . . As Usual

My pal Bill has a garden that you can see from space. If you can find his place on Google Earth, you’ll see three humongous plots that he carefully tends in between his regular shifts at the nuke plant. This past weekend Bill came down from the country to the big city for the Beach Volleyball tournament. It is a rare treat to see him, and the beach was inviting yesterday, so I harnessed up the little fuggers and headed over to see some of the action and pay my respects to my friend. The garden will be there when he gets home again. I can’t wait for a big bag of fresh garlic, but that’s another story.

The beach was full of people playing volleyball. There were lewd pulsating rhythms emanating from the loudspeakers. The Ski Patrol was there doing first aid and my pal was among them doing his part. The beach in Toronto’s east end has a lovely boardwalk running from end to end, and it was full of people and dogs of every description. It was perfect if you enjoy people watching and your dogs enjoy butt-sniffing.

As I strolled the boardwalk, PJ, Barney, Grendel and I met lots of curious people who wanted to stop and see the little doggums. Most encounters are pleasant enough. Grendel will survey the approaching people and cautiously sniff their outstretched hands. Barney will just rush in without any apprehension whatsoever. PJ and I will go into our spiel about Grendel and Barney’s relationship and the fact that Grendel is a really big chihuahua. It’s all good.

When there’s another dog involved Grendel and Barney will usually approach to get a whiff of the stranger and figure out the pheremones. The two little fuggers are pretty well socialized and I rarely have any trouble with either of them when another dog enters the scene. There was one occasion yesterday when I was proven wrong however.

We encountered a young woman walking a handsome red doberman on the boardwalk. The dog was friendly and approachable. I have a soft spot for red dobermans. They’re nice dogs. Barney, on the other hand, seemed to take exception to the big puppy and proceeded to snarl and leap at him. I dunno about you, but when I was in the schoolyard and there was a bigger kid spoiling for a fight, I wasn’t about to indulge him. Literally speaking Barney doesn’t have any balls, but figuratively, it’s another story. He had no qualms about taking an instant dislike to the guy who was ten times his size and letting the bigger dog know it in no uncertain terms.

Fortunately, Barney was on a short lead, and the big puppy was more puzzled than anything else by Barney’s aggression. The doberman looked down at Barney with a confused look on his face as if to say “why don’t you want to be my friend?” Everyone else had a laugh at Barney’s expense as we reeled him in to keep him from getting eaten by the big doberman puppy. I guess my 6 pound puppy doesn’t realize he’s a little fugger. Grendel knows his limitations, and minds his manners around bigger dogs, but Barney has a little too much bravura in his tiny frame. I hate to break it to him, but someone will have to tell him he’s usually the smallest dog in the pack.

Just another whipped dog

The paperguy keeps telling me to “get  over it” as he usually does. The worst part of it all is, he’s right. That makes the injury sting that much worse. Besides, he has a decade on me, so he should know about hard knocks related to aging.

You may ask what I’m rambling about. You might think I was run down by an automobile, or mauled by a pack of wild dogs. You may even suspect that I became a supporter of the Conservative Party. It’s much worse than that. I just filled a prescription for bifocal glasses. Jeez…..

Until recently I’ve always been one to take aging in stride. After all, there’s not much I can do about it. The clock keeps on ticking and Earth keeps orbiting the sun year in and year out. And here I am enjoying the ride for the most part, until my optometrist came along with her prescription pad. Curse her! (If you need a good optometrist, I’ll give you her name and number )

Maybe it’s just the last straw or something like that. I am coping with my funky vision after last year’s adventure. I don’t mind that I have a touch of arthritis as long as I keep moving. I’m out to the pilates studio once or twice a week, and I walk the little fuggers regularly. I do my best to curb my dietary excesses. I don’t even drink as much as I used to. I’m a middle aged guy after all. It’s not like I can party like I did in my twenties anymore. And that’s alright. But bifocals? Enough of the aging already.

I should have a good slug of buttermilk and thank my lucky stars. Just ask the paperguy.