Mar. 21st, 2017

malinaldarose: (Default)
This afternoon Jack and I met Flynn, the doberman who lives up the street. Flynn was out walking with his Boy who was entirely too small to be walking a full-grown doberman on his own, because when Flynn decided that he wanted to meet Jack, Flynn took off, dragging his Boy behind him. Unfortunately, the Boy tripped and fell, so Flynn was literally dragging him on his chest into the middle of the street, and that's where the kid stayed. Fortunately, Flynn stayed with him. I didn't want to make Flynn chase us, so I made Jack sit, and we all stayed there in a Doggy Stand Off until the Boy's mother ambled up the block to take charge of Flynn.

I have to stay that I was really impressed with the way she handed it, too. She didn't hurry; she didn't make any appearance of being worried or upset. She took charge of the dog, got the kid on his feet, and the whole time, she spoke in a soothing tone telling him how well he did, at the same time telling me that Flynn is a friendly dog.

Maybe, maybe not. People usually say that. I don't, but that's because I don't want people running up to my dog...though with Jack it wouldn't matter. He loves people. With some of my other dogs, it really did matter. Deuce hated kids, for instance, and I had an argument once with a woman who insisted on letting her grandkid stick his fingers through my back fence (they owned the lot on the other side), even when I told her that she needed to get him away from my dog. "Oh, it's fine! We have dogs, too!" Yeah, lady, I'm sure you do, but they're probably not gonna take the kid's fingers off! I ended up having to take the dog inside and keep her inside whenever they were around.

Anyway, I am partially to blame for the incident (with Flynn, that is); I should've turned around and gone the other way as soon as I spotted him and saw how big he was and that it was pretty obvious that the kid wasn't big enough to control him. At least the mother was actually paying attention.
---
On Friday, I told the Gecko that she was going to have to listen for the furnace guy because he was going to come back to finish up the work (there was one more piece of duct to put in; he hadn't had a piece of the right size the night before). I told her that it wouldn't be that day because he was going to be out of town, but that she'd have to pay attention this week.

So yesterday, I asked her if there was any sign of him. Nope.

Today, I asked her if there was any sign of him. "Oh, yeah," she said. "I've been meaning to tell you since Friday. Somebody came to the house. I think it was him."

"Did he knock?"

"Yeah."

"Did you let him in?"

"Yeah."

"Did he go into the basement?"

"Yeah."

*sigh* So down into the basement I went, and sure enough, there was new ductwork down there. I didn't see it on Saturday because of the abyssmal lighting situation down there which I am still trying to fix.

I just...seriously? She couldn't tell me this on Friday? Or Monday? If I hadn't asked her, would she ever have mentioned it? (The answer to that question is no. No, she would not have, because she doesn't speak to me unless I first speak to her. I walk into my own home and she does not acknowledge me.)

And corollary: If a burglar had knocked at the door, would she have let him in?

Probably.

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malinaldarose

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