This Is This

Drawn as I am to writing in general and blogging in particular, I can’t resist sounding off when something catches my ear, even if I said it myself. Actually, especially if I said it myself, let’s face it.

So this morning I was out walking the dog.

The conversations when walking dogs generally follow the same pattern, at least they do if you have a my dog. For the sake of brevity, not that I’ve given much providence to the notion, and to preserve the anonymity of strangers (ditto) I’ll just relay my half of the conversation:

1. “He’s a pug.”

2. “Nearly five months now.”

3. “Not much bigger. This is pretty much it.”

4. “A boy.”

5. “(Dog’s name)”

6. “Yeah, really friendly. To the point of foolhardy.” (I say this as he tries to mount a pitbull or similar – every dog is bigger than him.)

7. “You too. Bye.”

Sometimes we get to eight steps, but normally it’s six or seven.

I’ll ask a few things about their dog, but that’s fairly it, because normally when I do, I put my foot in it. Not literally, that would just be a faux pas, literalement. That’s French. Oh yeah.

Also, I’m not much of a talker, so I try and make the effort, but then the person I’m speaking to is aware that someone is really making an effort to talk to them, and I pick up on that.

This morning I thought I’d try a bit harder and I jumped right in after step one. Step one, mind you! On reflection I think that might have been a little early, but I was already in so I had to paddle.

“And what’s yours?” I chirped, not ordinarily being one for chirping. ”He’s a what? A terrier? Or a collie? Or a sheep dog.” Already I feel stupid because I wonder if a collie and a sheepdog are actually the same thing, or if there’s even a breed called a sheep dog. I don’t know much about dogs, really. No, honest.

“He’s a mix,” she says.

So there’s me, with my purebred sixth-generation specimen of a beast while he tries to mount what I this mutt. A mongrel. A rescue dog. Not that I give a shit, but what if I’ve offended her? What if I’ve done the pooch equivalent of pulling up to the lights in my Aston Martin to roll down the window and politely ask about the Allegro next to me.

“A bit of everything,” she volunteers.

I have to say something.

“And he’s – it’s a he isn’t it?” She nods. ”–he’s great. Great features. He’s got a bit of everything going on there. Look at that. Lovely.”

Bang. And we’re straight back into step two. I’d stretch the game penalties every time if I could rely on saves like that.

Also on This Is This
Me: Do you have any ice?
Member of Staff: Hmm. Ice?
Me (thinking): Yeah, you know - frozen water?
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This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 1st, 2008 at 9:02 am. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed, or you can skip to the end and leave a comment yourself.