The effects of dog-ownership

I don't need to rehash the many positives of owning a dog, for there are, it can be said, too many to count. What I wish to mention, briefly, are the downsides of dog-ownership—specifically the inevitable fact that a dog will attract "the crazies."

There are lots of individuals that make up "the crazies", so I will have to limit myself to one individual, who will be used as a stand-in for the class of "drunken homeless people."

One of the joys of living in an urban environment is being able to sit on one's stoop, with one's significant other, your mutual good friend, and your canine companion. Add to the mix a delicious Malbec and crisp September air and the night should be quite lovely. But since you are enjoying the occasion with a cute, friendly, dog with "come-pet-me-and-I-will-lick-you" eyes there is the inevitable moment when even the cute, friendly, dog with "come-pet-me-and-I-will-lick-you" eyes realizes that he has attracted the wrong individual.

Case in point, our encounter with "The Junk Yard Dog", or, for brevity's sake, "JYD" (his abbreviation, not mine). Now, there is no need for me to describe what JYD looks like—the mental image you have already constructed is probably pretty accurate. All that you need to know is the progression of the conversation that ensued (which mostly consisted of JYD talking and us reluctantly nodding and muttering).

It went as follows:

[Note: the elipses are the parts that I am skipping over because they have no bearing on the plot of the narrative]

"That's a, a, a nice dog there…my best friend in the whole world, you know, well, he died…beer in the church, they don't like that, you know…smoking trees…those people who sleep with kids, I don't, you know, I can't stand them…don't want to think about it, but anyone messed with you ladies, you know, I would annihilate them…I would annihilate, them, man…he had it coming, man, I stabbed him eight times, but he had it coming, you know…what's your name? 'Deborah" What's your name? 'Sarah, with an 'h'.'…" At this point "Sarah" with an "h" (actually Katie) was staring me down with knives and, taking the hint, I proclaimed that it was Arlo's dinner time and that Sarah, Deborah (actually Alicia), Arlo and I needed to leave. To brace the trauma of our departure, I told JYD that I was very sorry for his lose, and, to seal the emotional bond placed a hand on his shoulder telling him that he should "be good" and "take care of yourself." This seemed to break his fixation with us, and, as he turned to stumble up the street I quickly followed Sarah and Deborah into the apartment and made sure that both locks were secured.

I'm not sure is there is a moral to this—even if there were I'm not sure how one could universally apply it. Perhaps what the reader should take from this is, if one decides to own a dog, especially one that is consistently gawked at and swooned over, be prepared for the entrance of "the crazies"; they are always waiting just off stage.