The Asshole of Meadow Park

Meadow Park is a pocket park near our house, a block-long triangle of grass and trees. It's also the place for local dogs to meet and greet. No fences, so leashes on at all times, but there's plenty to see and sniff.

Jackson and I got there early this morning, around 6:30. There was one other dog, large and beige, at the other end of the park. At first, Jackson was content to follow the pee trail. But, after a few whiffs, he decided he wanted to say hi. I let him lead as we crossed the park.

When we were about 15 feet away from the other dog, its owner whirled around and said, "What are you doing?"

"What?" I said, truly confused.

"Are you following me or something?"

I pointed at Jackson. "He is. He's friendly."

He looked at his own dog. "Well, she's not. So go somewhere else. I don't need a dogfight first thing in the morning."

His dog seemed to have a different opinion. Throughout Jackson's approach and the subsequent pleasant chat, she stayed calm. She looked at Jackson a couple of times, but no barks, no growls, no tugging on the leash. If there was hostility from her, I missed it, and so did Jackson.

Whatever. "Okay, okay," I said, "be nice about it." We turned and headed the other way. They crossed the street and left the park.

I'll assume the guy isn't completely delusional, and that his dog has gotten into fights in the past. He seems to have no idea that his paranoid reaction to other dogs and owners isn't going to help. All he had to say was "She's not friendly." Instead, he almost turned it into a confrontation between me and him.

<brooklyn> And by the way, asshole - if your dog is so fucking dangerous, maybe you shouldn't be walking her in the one place where you're pretty much guaranteed to see other dogs, even at 6 in the morning. In fact, maybe she's not a good choice for a city dog, Einstein. Maybe you and she should both pack up and move to 10 acres in Goochland. That way, at least, I won't have to see your stupid fucking face. </brooklyn>

Caliente Brunch II

70-some degrees in Richmond today, so we went to Caliente for brunch on the patio again. Blissfully, boringly uneventful: we gave Jackson a rawhide treat, he plopped down on his mat, and he stayed put while we ate. The only other dog there wasn't cruising, so no casual sex.

Who's A Widdle Widdle Pirate?

By popular (okay, Stacy's) demand, Jackson all dressed up for Halloween:



And my favorite, because it has a sort of hellhound/spirit photo effect:

The Graduate

Jackson passed his final exam in PetSmart Basic Training today! Things started badly - his normally reliable "down" deserted him. But he got it back, and he pulled a "stay" out of his butt to ace the test.

Jackson's gonna get so drunk tonight. Watch out, Mrs. Robinson!

I Went to a Greyhound Party

We went to the GPA/Richmond picnic last Sunday. It was fun to hang out with 50 or so similarly-obsessed people and their dogs.

That's Jackson (we think) running at full tilt boogie in the time trial, chasing down the infamous sonic crack game call. The radar gun clocked him at 28 mph, which actually isn't very fast for a greyhound. Jackson has lost some quicks over the last few months. He doesn't get much chance to run these days - lots of long walks, but no sprints. So we're going to move to another house, with a big backyard. And we'll set up a training run, and let Jackson chase the game call. Seriously. We're going to buy a house to make our dog happy. I don't know what to say. What the hell is happening to me?

Anyway, the highpoint of the picnic for us was probably when I let Jackson get loose. He was lying in my lap, and I got sloppy with the leash, and someone squawked the game call, and off he went. Straight to the game call, a hundred yards away, where Stacy caught up with him while two guys pried the game call out of his mouth.

Finally, after everything was packed up, I had to walk Jackson around and through the time trial chute, to convince him that the source of that seductive noise was gone. We aficionados call that a "strong prey drive." Sounds much better than "wants to kill small furry animals."

Osama bin Jackson

Update your watchlists - fashionista alert! Jackson is ready for winter and waterboarding in this sleek coat and snood combo from Coats 4 Greys. The chic advisory level is code black!

Choking The Chicken

Actually, we think it's a flamingo. Not a chicken, not a pelican. My apologies for any confusion this may have caused.