The Dog Boxer

The day started off with instant coffee. My lady friend ran out of the good stuff, and beggars can’t be choosy so that’s what I had. It always reminds me of camping when I have instant coffee. Had I known, I would have picked up a can of the good stuff on the way over.

My lady friend has a sister and her sister has a furniture store on Beverly Blvd. A nice store. She sells tables and her father’s paintings. It’s a solid enterprise. There are no leisure pursuits there.

The sister has a little boy who I like. He is both amusing and nerve racking all in one. He’s two and half almost three now. He is entertained by thin air. It doesn’t take much to get him going. But there is something about him that gives me anxiety. I think it has something to do with the uncertainty of his behavior. It can turn in an instant, from joy to sorrow, depending on his mood. I’m not much different. But when I cry, I tend to cry on the inside.

I did some more gardening. I was out front pulling weeds when two young ladies walked by with a Boxer. One of the girls was attractive, the other looked book smart. The pretty girl was holding the dog and the leash. The dog came up to me.

“Cool dog,” I said.

The conversation didn’t get much further than that, before the girls walked away. Not a “see you later,” or “take it easy,” nothing. The girls just turned away and walked off. It got me thinking that maybe the idea of social skills has been depleted. Granted I wasn’t helping matters any. I was focusing more on the dog than talking. It struck me as odd. But then again I’m odd and when the odd meet the odd, you get a strange kind of normal.