Once upon a time, we walked our dogs on various trails in and around the towns we lived in.  As of late though, our walks are confined to the park/woods at the top of the street, or on various streets around our neighborhood. It’s become the place where the majority of our adventures take place.

I’m a friendly type of gal, and always wave to and speak to people as we pass. Some of the people around here are friendlier than others, but I think that’s true anywhere.

When I walk the dogs I like to face oncoming traffic. 1) That is what I was taught as a child, 2) if someone isn’t paying attention, or doesn’t see me, I can do my best to avoid THEM, and 3) if someone isn’t paying attention, I want to make sure my terror face stays in their minds forever…;-)

Because of some untrained dogs owned by a number of DADO’s in our ‘hood, we often times have to cross the street and walk with traffic. I try to keep those times short, but sometimes, we do drift along. Mostly the neighborhood doesn’t have a lot of traffic and I try and keep my eyes and ears open.

Last night I was giving Delilah her evening walk. Delilah’s a hoot because you just never know WHAT she’s going to do in any given situation. Not to mention that she will zig when you want to zag, or get her leash tangled, pee on the paint the utility company marks lawns and roads with, roll on a dead worm, kick dirt on you or any number of other things. Siriusly. The list goes on and on.

We were approaching a house where one of our neighbors was watering his lawn. I wave to this guy when I see him, but we seldom have the opportunity to exchange pleasantries. So, we approach his house, and we both wave and he says, “Hello”.

I almost always respond to a hello or hi with, “Hi, how are you?” I was raised to be polite, what can I say?

He was apparently raised the same way I was, because he said, “I’m good, how are you?”

So I said, “I’m great!”

That’s when Delilah squatted and peed in the street.

In. The. Street. Not on the side of the street, no, she was about five to six feet out from the curb.

 

I looked at him and sort of shrugged my shoulders and we both laughed, then he said, “Well at least you know she’s not picky where she goes.”

And I responded with “No, she has no problem finding somewhere to pee, in fact, last week, she even pooped in the street. At least it was easy to pick up.”

He was still laughing when we left.