Edges of Paradise

After dinner yesterday the dog looked a bit bored, so I said the magic word “car!” and off we girls went to return library books.
The first book just wouldn’t go in, likely because it was a big picture book I’d checked out for grandson Eli’s visit, but then I realized the after-hours book drop was filled to the brim.

 I put the books back in the car and Mamie and I went for a stroll around the empty parking lot to enjoy the tropical summer winter evening. Halfway down I looked across and saw a man and a largish dog on the opposite side. The dog was off his leash and I became uncomfortably aware of the smallness of my dog, the distance to the car, and the isolation of where we were.

The dog, a dalmation/pointer, froze as it saw Mamie. I walked away to a further point – farther from the man, but also farther from my car.

“Sit!” The dog sat and the man walked toward us.

“He’s very submissive,” the man said reassuringly. The dog still was three times Mamie’s size.

 Still wishing the dog was on a leash, I said, “You do seem to have good control over him.”

 The man pointed out an orange collar, which must have been some sort of radio-controlled device. The dogs snuffled warily at each other and that was that.

The dog bounded off looking for squirrels to point at, and the balding, pot-bellied 60ish man and I chatted about our dogs as I walked toward my car.

Threat dissolved.

I said I hadn’t chosen the most interesting place for a walk, all asphalt and scrubby bushes.

“Oh, it’s kind of nice over there,” and he gestured to a grassy area just visible past some trees.  “But then, that’s where the homeless camp is.”