Let me count the ways:
1)He's one sexy beast.
2)He's a hothead.
3)His tough guy exterior is only designed to protect his very soft, vulnerable interior.
4)He's a good listener.
5)People are drawn to his awesomeness.
One day, the Zen of walking Hoagy was completely shattered.
Understand, I thoroughly enjoy these walks. They are as good for me as they are for him. It's not just the obvious exercise. While he is checking every tree trunk for Pee-mail, I can clearly think through things that I am working on. It's nice to ponder how I live in a place that has palm trees and perfect weather. The walks also give me a break from the porn box, I mean, computer.
My neighborhood is populated with many elderly Russians. They often take walks. The antagonist in this story is an elderly Russian man in a powder blue track suit. He is also characterized as having a very odd walk. I'd guess it's some kind of spinal difficulty or maybe the result of a stroke.
Anyway, Hoagy and I are motoring along in our parallel playtime. Russian dude is on us before I can get Hoagy pulled in close to my side. Hoagy wastes no time in telling me (loudly) that this guy with the fucked up walk is bad news.
Russian old man looks at me and says----WACH YUR DUG.
---It's cool man...I'm watching him . Thanks. Sorry about that. We're rattled but we carry on.
The next day the same thing happens. This lopsided Russian old man is leaning into us with a rolled up piece of paper and he's yelling----WACH YUR DUG. Let me add that he is wearing black wrap around sunglasses. I really hate interacting with anybody when I can't see their eyes.
DUDE, I'M WATCHING HIM. Just back the fuck up and give us a little room here. Hoagy is at Defcon 4. ---Sir! A commercial airliner just penetrated the Empire State Building!
WACH YUR DUG. He's still waiving around a rolled up piece of paper in his hand which is only fanning the flames.
LOOK. Just back up a bit...HOAGY! STOP IT. Good boy.
WACH YUR DUG. I'm watching him! Relax man. Jesus Christ.
Fucking nut job. I can hear him muttering---wach yur dug--- as we get the hell out of there.
The next few days are a complete drag. I'm on the lookout for this guy constantly. When I see him, I'm crossing traffic to avoid another scene. Hoagy is all keyed up, feeling my tension and I can tell he's a shotgun with a loose trigger.
We don't see him for a few days so I'm totally caught off guard when he steps out from between a doorway right into our path.
WACH YUR DUG he says as he hands me the rolled up piece of paper that he's been carrying. Then he's gone.
WTF? Hoagy is seated, surprisingly calm waiting for me to continue. I'm also calm. Hmmm. I carefully unroll what appears to be a glossy brochure. Along the top it says----Clean pets are lovable pets. There are a few photos of different size bath tubs and then across the middle in large bold type it says---WASH YOUR DOG.
The call was coming from inside he house.
There it is. This is how terrible shit happens.