It’s My World. This Woman Just Lives in It.

You know, every so often I start to think about someday having a kid or at least getting a dog, and then immediately afterward, something happens that makes me realize that I am just not at all well enough for either.

For instance, this evening my friends Isaac and Cathy and Sara and I took her pooch for a walk. Sara’s dog is awesome. His name is Jake, he’s a Shiba Inu, looks like a small docile bear, and never barks. His one problem is that he really doesn’t like other dogs. He kind of wants to kill them. Because Sara loves her dog and doesn’t want to get sued, and also because it’s the law in Boston, she therefore walks him on a leash. Very smart, right?

Well, here’s the problem: Many of the stupid hippies who populate Jamaica Plain do not feel that their dogs should be encumbered by silly little things like leashes. They have similarly lax ideas about child rearing, but that’s another entry for another time. This evening, we’re concentrating on the dog problem, or more specifically, on the owner problem, because this particular situation was definitely a case of Stupid Owner.

Let me sketch this woman out for you. Fortyish, wearing some kind of furry Peruvian sweater. Hair sensibly coiffed in what appeared to be a wiffle. Long feathery substitute art teacher earrings. One dog, of indeterminate breed. One child, who is clearly doomed.

Peruvian Sweater and child were walking a block behind us. Their mutt, sans leash, was dancing around poor Jake, snapping and barking and generally inciting riot.

“Is this your dog?” Sara called back to Peruvian Sweater.

“Oh, yes, that’s him!”

“Well, you might want to come get him,” she said, yanking on Jake’s leash while he tried to go for the mutt’s jugular. “My dog isn’t friendly. Just FYI.”

Peru ambled over, very slowly, making dumbass cooing sounds, like that would help. After a few feeble grabs, she managed to get ahold of what I’m sure was a 100% hemp collar, and haul her dog out of Jake’s personal space.

“This is actually why you’re supposed to have your dog on a leash,” I told her.

She made irritated noises. “You’re not very friendly! In fact, you’re just as unfriendly as this dog!”

You know in the Popeye cartoons, when Bluto saw red? Yeah, that’s what happened right then. “Oh, I’m actually a lot less friendly than this dog, believe me.”

“I can see that! I can see that!” Ushering the kid and the dog away, she called back over her shoulder. “You need a muzzle!”

“Oh, yeah?” I said.

“Jen, she’s with a kid–” Cathy cautioned.

“–Well you need to be spayed.”

Keens of Peruvian sweater-clad indignation bounced over the snow as she tried in vain to block her kid’s ears and hold the dog collar. And no one was really speaking to me on the way home.

But I’m here to tell you: That kid was ruined anyway. Her Mom is exactly the sort of person who pickets unjust corporations on the corner and then goes right into the nearest Starbucks and berates the baristas. I have absolutely no use for such people. And I’m taking them down, one unfriendly act at a time.

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14 thoughts on “It’s My World. This Woman Just Lives in It.

  1. I had a dog just like that. It was like walking a juvenile delinquent on a leash. Most of the time when people disregarded my warnings there was more bark than bite. But not always 🙂

  2. I just spit coffee all over my keyboard. Take down the useless hippies! Especially the ones that berate Starbucks baristas… believe me, I was berated by more than a few.

  3. I LOVE this story Jen!!! It makes me feel better for doing similar things! I was in a boutique/consignment/vintage shop looking at girls' skirts&shirts (for my roomie) and some little twit of a girl grabbed a shirt on the same wrack I was looking at and hit me with it. Sans apology. I said, "I'm sorry" in my throaty, hungover voice of serious New Englander annoyance. She apologized and quickly ran out of the shop. I felt guilty for a few seconds… But not now. Triumph!

    –David in CA

  4. You are my voice. Please come home. We can go to the Arboretum and re-live your Pond experience. I am from JP. I feel your pain. And when I say from JP, I mean summer friggin camp was Corwall playground with some ABCD couselors smoking weed, I mean friggin school bus to the Trotter, I mean no one coming to your house because their parents wouldn’t let them take the Orange Line. I mean, the Orange Line was in the friggin air, like the El, not in the trench, so yeah, I am from JP.

    So I was in the Arbs with Max, a Rotweiller, and Abby, an Lab. Yeah, a lab is queer, but the Rotty balanced it out. So they are on leashes, and the little yippie dog with no leash, and the self satisfied Owner(Can’t recall what indigenous tribe wove the owner’s sweater). So yippie sees Max, teh Rotweiler, ahd turns tail and runs. Owner looks at me like I caused this. To be courteous, I turn right around and go the other way. (I don’t want this lady never to be able to get Toto back in the basket.) So ten minutes later, we are coming down another path, and there they are, friggin pagan non-leash having dog owner, and Toto, who skedaddles again. Good times, good times. If only Jennie Smash had been there to add insult to canine injury….

    I hate those people. I always have. I moved to Brighton.

  5. I’m sorry…I lost count of how many stereotypes there were in your story…looks like your pathetic fan club can’t count,too.Do people judge you on your nose ring…or are they just misguided individuals…like you.I’m so glad that I don’t live in the U.S. anymore,and it is people like yourself,and your following here,that I have to partially thank for my bliss.
    Maybe you’re the one who should be spayed.Hopefully your are sterile…I’d hate to see your hatred passed on to innocent children.Have you really looked in the mirror lately?

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