Scary monsters. Super freaks.
Y'all, never fuck with me. My dog is protective. Seriously.
Riley and I were just sashaying along, but with less swish, practicing our heel, and a guy wandered out of his front yard into the street all "Hey! HEY." And then asking questions I couldn't really hear. Something like, "What do you have there?" to which I responded, "A DOG!" but he kept approaching.
There are two things to do in a situation like this: run like hell, or stand your ground and Stay your dog and pull on the ice mask. I did the second.
This guy was a bit teetery. He stunk of something that was either cheap booze or cheap aftershave - sort of a mix of coconut rum and the counter of a gas-station shop after someone's been testing the Designer Impostor shit. You know, when you get it all over your wallet.
He started asking me about my dog - no, she's a Boxer, not a pit bull - and gushing about how BEAUTIFUL she was, and what did my dog do?
Riley sat there and STARED at this dude. Stared. Flat out. I don't know what it was, but she picked up on the fact that Boss Alpha wasn't happy, and she sat by my side, still as stone, watching this man. She's not fully grown yet. She has the attention span of a fruitfly. But she knew I wasn't cool with the situation and she was guarding me. He noted that she "minds" me, which is Southern for "she's well-trained," and I said yes she is, and I tugged a smidge on the big chain that she inherited from Sadie, and she glanced up at me all "I got you, I'm watching him." She sat there. Tongue out to her knees as usual. Just watching this dude, telling him in no uncertain terms to keep his distance.
And he did. When she eventually got bored, after I'd relaxed somewhat, she went up to sniff him and he skittered back. She doesn't look scary to me, but apparently she IS.
I have a big, scary, don't-fuck-with-me dog.
This is so empowering.
Ladies, you know what I mean. It's the Single Urban Female thing - that instinct which gets passed down in breastmilk, or something, and tells us to never trust any guy we meet, especially if they approach us, and extra-especially if they smell like booze and/or cheap aftershave. (Seriously? Fruity. Ugh.) The kind where we keep our distance and check the parking garage before we go to the car; the things trained into us by urban legends and front-page horror stories. That thing.
And it totally vanished when my big sweet mushfaced dog planted her butt between me and this guy, saying don't you fuck with what's on the other end of that leash.
Riley and I were just sashaying along, but with less swish, practicing our heel, and a guy wandered out of his front yard into the street all "Hey! HEY." And then asking questions I couldn't really hear. Something like, "What do you have there?" to which I responded, "A DOG!" but he kept approaching.
There are two things to do in a situation like this: run like hell, or stand your ground and Stay your dog and pull on the ice mask. I did the second.
This guy was a bit teetery. He stunk of something that was either cheap booze or cheap aftershave - sort of a mix of coconut rum and the counter of a gas-station shop after someone's been testing the Designer Impostor shit. You know, when you get it all over your wallet.
He started asking me about my dog - no, she's a Boxer, not a pit bull - and gushing about how BEAUTIFUL she was, and what did my dog do?
Riley sat there and STARED at this dude. Stared. Flat out. I don't know what it was, but she picked up on the fact that Boss Alpha wasn't happy, and she sat by my side, still as stone, watching this man. She's not fully grown yet. She has the attention span of a fruitfly. But she knew I wasn't cool with the situation and she was guarding me. He noted that she "minds" me, which is Southern for "she's well-trained," and I said yes she is, and I tugged a smidge on the big chain that she inherited from Sadie, and she glanced up at me all "I got you, I'm watching him." She sat there. Tongue out to her knees as usual. Just watching this dude, telling him in no uncertain terms to keep his distance.
And he did. When she eventually got bored, after I'd relaxed somewhat, she went up to sniff him and he skittered back. She doesn't look scary to me, but apparently she IS.
I have a big, scary, don't-fuck-with-me dog.
This is so empowering.
Ladies, you know what I mean. It's the Single Urban Female thing - that instinct which gets passed down in breastmilk, or something, and tells us to never trust any guy we meet, especially if they approach us, and extra-especially if they smell like booze and/or cheap aftershave. (Seriously? Fruity. Ugh.) The kind where we keep our distance and check the parking garage before we go to the car; the things trained into us by urban legends and front-page horror stories. That thing.
And it totally vanished when my big sweet mushfaced dog planted her butt between me and this guy, saying don't you fuck with what's on the other end of that leash.