Recovery Day.
Eventful dog walk.
First, ran into two dogs that looked like something from Star Wars. A cross between those tall, white, Empire fighting giraffes and Chewbakka. Only saw one at first, slowly walking toward the street. No leash or restraints. 100+ pounder. Yelled commands to stop him. He calmly and casually kept walking toward us. Then his near clone started out from the garage.
Kuba (62 pounds of explosives) growled, shot her Brat Streak on her back, barked once. The monster kept walking.
The owner yelled something to his dogs, they slowed but didn’t stop. Kuba danced like Muhammad Ali. The big boys just stood there, body language saying “Dudette, chilllll. It’s casual.”
Owner apologized, but his behemoths were on great behavior. Irish Wolfhounds. 150 pound each. Wow. Just wow.
Then (sigh) a couple streets later, it was like a scene out of Raising Arizona.
In their driveway, 50 yards away, a maybe two year old, shirtless infant in a diaper, and two dogs. A 10 pound 50 shades of ruffled gray and white thing, and the larger, angrier love child of a Bloodhound/Irish Setter/Bast Urd big dog started running toward us.
The little one talked chit, while the other one lunged, missing Sugar Kuba Leonard. The countered with a single connection where the aggressor’s left shoulder meets the neck. It yelped and started trotting toward home. By the time we walked up to their driveway, the boney, haggard, 65ish year old woman (with a heater hanging out of her mouth) scooped up the infant and went inside her duplex behind the two leash-less dogs.
Thoughtless, ingnorant and of stupid is no way to go through life.
