Saturday after dinner, Mom offered to go for a walk with me because my laps had been cut short by a dog encounter. I was grateful for the company and the space for long strides. When we got to the top of the hill, the same two dogs, Max and his black furred friend, charged across the street at us.
"Go home," Mom commanded to no avail.
The dogs' owner emerged from the woods along with his wife. Both started to yell for the dogs. Something was beeping on their collars, but obviously the device wasn't effective. The dogs were a few feet from us and Max barked. I wasn't really nervous this time, but I was annoyed that the dogs were still loose. The man got a hold of the black dog's collar and said, "I'm sorry about that."
Mom strode over and introduced herself and me. I dutifully followed and shook his hand. She included her geographic proximity to his house in the introduction. "Oh right, of course," he said.
As we walked down the hill, Max bounded after us, running into other neighbor's yards on both sides of the streets. The man kept calling after him and activating the useless beeping device on Max's collar.
"What was his name again?" Mom asked.
"I never caught it," I replied.
"He never said it," she confirmed.
"What a jerk. As if we need his name to complain about his dogs running all over the place. We know where he lives."
When we got to the end of the street, we opted to brave the heavy traffic and shoulderless, sidewalk-free main road instead of heading back up the hill to the charging dogs. Ggggrrrr.