A few years ago I walked out to my van and noticed the door was ajar. That puzzled me since I was positive I shut it firmly.
Then I noticed off to my left side, about 12 feet away, a fortyish woman wearing wraparound sunglasses (which I dislike on anyone) appearing to give me a hostile look. She had a cellphone in her left hand.
By this time I had alarm bells going off. Something was going on but I didn’t know what.
When I opened the door to my van she asked me, “Is this your van?” What a dumb question.
“Yes,” I said.
“I called the police because you left your dog in this heat.”
She had opened the door to my van.
The dog in question was Mickey, my second pug and the first of my rescue ones. Mickey was blind in one eye and had been abused. I got him for free because no one else wanted him.
It was hot out, about 95 degrees. I had very cold AC in my van, had shaved Mickey’s fur to within a millimeter of his skin, kept a gallon jug of ice water in the van and a bowl to give him water, and when I got out I poured cold water on him, parked in the shade, and kept the windows down. I was never gone more than eight minutes.
Any dog can handle that kind of heat, with what I had done for him, for eight minutes without any problems. How do people think dogs in the wild survive? It’s not as if all they die when it gets hot. They hide in the shade or dig dens.
I immediately knew what this woman’s problem was because of the hostile look on her face and her attack on me without knowing the slightest thing about me and my dog.
I knew her husband had left her, or none of her relationships had worked out, so she was one of those women who blamed all her problems on men. The dog was just an excuse to make her feel self-righteous.
I told her, “The police aren’t going to do anything. They get these calls all the time and they take their time getting here because they want me to leave. You don’t know anything about me or my dog, so mind your own business and take care of your own problems?”
“You wait until the police get here!” she told me. What did she think they were going to do? Arrest me? Take my dog? Even if they had shown up they would have looked at the situation and left. The dog was fine, just panting a bit because I found out ten minutes later, he had to pee.
I decided to escalate things, which I do a lot. When people get angry they blurt out the truth.
“You haven't been laid in three years,” I told her. "You know why? Because you're a stupid, unpleasant bitch."
Her eyebrows shot up and she jerked backward. Then she unwittingly said something they proved my intuitions about her. She yelled, “You’re no gentleman! You’re not married!”
Just as I thought: men problems. The first words out of her mouth were about men (gentlemen, that is, men being nice) and marriage.
“Your husband left you, didn't he?” I said (she twitched again), got in my van and left, with her still screaming, “You want until the police get here!”
She was right about one thing: I’m no gentleman, at least not when dealing with people who get involved in my life and don’t know a thing about me.
And I’ll bet she took my license plate number down and told the police the whole story about what a horrid man I was.
That is, if they ever showed up.