The Puddle

It's colder with the windchill.

More dog walkers. Guy on my street is crazy. I ran into him on the way home, halfway up the street in the dark shadow between the streetlights. The dog was straining at its leash towards me. She was up on her hind feet, eyes wild. A low bark and whine.

It's as if I'm not there; he barely acknowledges me before launching into an enthusiastic conversation with his dog as they pass. "I bet he does have dog treats. I bet he has two whole pockets full of them. So you want to be friends, eh? Oh you want to go for a sleepover?" I was well out of earshot before the banter let up.

I don't know what to say. I know, or at least I suppose, having no experience in the matter, that if you were to approach a stranger on the street and suggest a sleepover, you might find yourself in the dock. Is there something about owning dogs that makes people so weird?

- - - - - - - -

Unrelated: This Gabrielle Giffords thing is more than a little nuts. People are trying to suggest with all seriousness that there could be no political motive to this attack. Take for example the Tea Party, who interrupt a statement of pap democratic process idealism with a caveat that it might not be necessary. Of course there was a political factor in this shooting; it's pretty hard to shoot a politician without it being political, unless it's a hunting accident. It's not very likely that this guy was convinced of her involvement in a secret alien invasion, or that she was some kind of demon. This is the kind of stuff that makes for great television, but reality is seldom as dramatic. The sheer possibility of subtlety necessitates that the most obvious answer usually be the right one. It'll do us no end of harm to start thinking otherwise.