White Trash at Flat Rock

The next chapter in the Life of Dolly 

“You’d never believe,” I said to Peter and Wendy one day. They’re always good for exchanging a little dirt.

“Ken sat beside that woman who hates me at a lecture. He said he talked with her for almost an hour about what good dogs pit bulls are. For an hour,” I emphasized.

“Leave it to Ken to be nice to Crazy Lady,” Wendy groused. “It won’t do any good, she’s nuts.” 

“I’m sure it did no good. She already said Bubba was not a problem. Why doesn’t she just walk in another area? It’s not like there’s a shortage of trails. What do we use, a mile and a half out of at least twelve?” I asked.

“She loves the thrill,” Wendy claimed. “Why else would she come up here if she’s afraid of dogs? No one should come here if they are afraid. She gets off on it.” 

Peter was quiet. He kept an eye on Kody and meandered along the trail. Kody doesn’t believe in excess movement. Dolly was plowing through the woods at top speed, periodically barging in front of Star to see if he would play. Star was trying desperately to preserve his standard poodle dignity. 

We humans were all in our summer dog walking finest; sloppy tee shirts, knee length shorts and scruffy sandals. Each person had a leash wrapped around his or her neck and each dog sported just a collar. No fancy bows or outfits on this crew. 

“Well,” Peter finally said, dragging out the “l” sound. “Ken should sleep with her. That’s what she wants.” 

“Peter!” Wendy reprimanded him. 

“I think Ken’s wife might put the kibosh on that,” I said. 

“No, I bet she wouldn’t mind,” Wendy chirped. 

We considered this in silence for a few steps. None of us were in a committed relationship. None of us particularly seemed to mind our single state. 

“I gave up men,” Peter said. “I’m celibate. It’s a lot easier.” 

“Sure,” I commiserated. “Who needs men if you have a dog?” 

Wendy didn’t weigh in on that discussion. She had other things on her mind. 

“Look. Those stupid people were up here again,” she said. 

“What stupid people?” I asked. 

“Those ones who come up with their kids and go swimming. They leave poopy diapers all around,” she said. “Right where we send the dogs in swimming. It’s posted. Henry gets really mad at them when they go in the water.” 

Wendy often uses the authority of Henry to prove her points. He’s a dog-loving employee of the city water department. His business card lists him as reservoir security. 

“They are idiots,” Peter agreed. “I was really mad at that guy. I told him. They have a pit too.”

 “That doesn’t mean they are bad,” I said, ever aware of slights against pit bulls in general.

 “Oh, the dog is fine,” Peter said. “It’s him.”