My grandparents saved my life when I was a teenager.
So I have always had a deep affection for old people.
I try to be patient with them, show them respect, and help them whenever I can.
But there is this one old man who lives near me.
And I have thoughts of kicking his cane out from under him.
I know. But hear me out.
A few years ago, when the Moosedawg was still savage (all show, but never mind), he loved to hurl himself against our big wooden gate.
This was to tell passersby — of the human and, mainly, the canine persuasion — that, although he had no actual cajones, the Moosedawg was totally bad-ass.
His gate-smashing behavior embarrassed me a time or 200, but I also took some comfort in it, especially when a house near us was burgled.
In my imagination, I could just see the burglars planning their crime.
“Let’s break into that green house. (Sound of the savage, snarling, 100-pound Moosedawg body slamming the gate). Sheeee-it man! Let’s get outta here and break into that house wayyyy over there.”
Buddy, while annoying, was not unreasonable. If people walked their dogs on the OTHER side of his street, he tended to only bark a bit, with no attempt to claw through the gate and eat them up.
Now, with that as your backdrop, we find the old man on my street, who has a cane that I have dreamed about kicking out from under him.
This old bugger walks his stupid little dog at the same time every day. And every day, he lets his dog pee on our gate. Which sends the Moosedawg into orbit.
Seriously, folks, the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse and all the Orcs from the Lord of the Rings trilogy could not hold a candle to the spit-slinging fury of the Moosedawg after his territory had been peed on.
This would happen even if I was standing in the front yard. The old man would give me this sideways glance that said, “I’m an old man, so what you gonna do?”
Being “in-yo-faced” by an old man and his stupid little dog does not put you in a happy place. And it went on and on.
City Council Letter
Then one day I came home to find an official letter from the City Council. Someone had complained that the Moosedawg had gotten out of the yard and attacked him and his small dog.
Trust me. An official letter like this makes your blood run cold. Especially when your wife holds it up as the 10,000th reason to get rid of the Moosedawg, who she hates.
So I called the City Council to find out exactly what had happened.
Turns out, nobody had been et or even bitten. Not even a little bit.
I deduced that the old man had once again let his dog pee on our gate, the Moosedawg had gone insane, smashed into the gate and sprung the latch.
If the old man and his stupid little dog ever had an “Oh Shit” moment in their lives, this would have been it. And I would have paid big money to see it.
In my mind’s eye, Buddy charges out. Roaring. Like the Hounds of Hell. On a really bad day.
He chases the little dog, round and round the old man and his cane, like a Maypole. Both the old man and his stupid little dog wet themselves and somehow hop away. Hop. Hop. Hop. Like in a cartoon.
Moosedawg 1, Old Man 0
And, his mission accomplished, the Moosedawg snorts, scratches the ground, looks up and down the street to see if anyone else wants a piece of him and then struts back inside. Totally bad-ass.
In the end, all that happened was the City Council said we had to put a more secure bolt on the gate.
Oh, and the tense old man and his stupid little dog started walking past our house on the other side of the street.
Remember, all this happened several years ago.
So last night, I am walking the Moosedawg, who, at 13, still weighs 100 pounds, but is now almost deaf, half-blind, and riddled with tumors. He’s still happy, but really old.
And off in the distance, who do I see?
No, not Mitt Romney, but I agree the guy seems to be everywhere.
No, it is the old man and his stupid little dog, walking towards us.
I am thinking, “Heh. Heh. Heh. Payback time.”
The oblivious old Moosedawg is thinking, “walk, walk, walk”, because he cannot really see or hear anything, including the old man and his stupid little dog.
The old man is thinking, “Lord, I have lived an impure life, but I call upon you now and beg for mercy, else we are about to get et.”
When we are about 50 yards away from the old man and his stupid little dog, my gleeful anticipation gets bigger and bigger. I can actually hear the sound of their sphincters slamming shut.
Because, even though I like old people and dogs, this old man and his stupid little gate-peeing dog so deserve it.
I am briefly lost in my thoughts, laughing to myself at what is about to happen. (Yes, I am totally mature at all times.)
Then I look up, in happy anticipation, and the old man and his stupid little dog are gone. Vanished. Poof.
I keep walking and looking down various driveways, hoping to see the old man and his stupid little dog, and give them a look that says, “Bwahahahahahahaha.” (Because I am totally mature.)
But they are well and truly gone.
Which is probably for the best.
Because I didn’t really want to kick the old man’s cane out from under him.
I just wanted him to know that what goes around, comes around.
And that, if he wanted to, the almost deaf, half-blind Moosedawg could still et them both in one gulp. And spit out the cane.
Heh heh heh.