Women here in the CL LTR section, women gossiping in the office and woman at bars Remind me of my childhood dog raisins.
Spring 1984
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” My father shot up from the breakfast table and ran out the back door. I was seven years old. Raisins was still just a pup.
I hear my father frantically fumbling with the door swearing to himself and mocking my mother sarcastically “The kids need a dog”
I look out the window and there’s raisins. She is looking right at me, her mouth opened and tongue hanging out. A big happy dog smile. Mounted to her was the old neighborhood mutt from two houses down, Oscar. A fat, stocky, mean little dog with dilapidated fur at best. His paws were wrapped around raisins abdomen, his head cocked to the side, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut.
From the right side of the window I see my father getting into the action dragging a hose behind him wearing only his tighty whiteys. His mouth is moving but I can’t hear what he’s saying. It looks like more bad words.
I gasp! My father is shooting the hose pointblank into poor Oscar’s face. Why is he doing that to Raisin’s friend? I stare horrified watching my angry naked father swearing at the poor dog and blasting him in the face. But Oscar was dedicated. He was not deterred. As my father aimed the beam of water into his nose or eyes he defiantly threw his head to other side and snorted the water from his nose. This mutt had some grit.
My father wasn’t having it. Oscar was not going to win no matter how much willpower he thought he had. The stakes got raised and now the mutt was getting hit with the end of the hose. He stood in there for a while, like the Alamo this dog put up a good fight but eventually lost. Retreating from Raisins, oblivious to all the commotion; the mutt ran a circle around and gave him a goaded bark. As if to say, “Fuck you!”
Summer 1984
That was a fun summer. Every dog in the neighborhood has designated my house the local hangout. They migrated from the Collie house up the street to my front yard. I was psiked having a dozen new friends to hang out and play with. Coming home from camp I would see the dogs camped out in my front yard. They just lurked about waiting for raisins to come out and play. But I wasn’t aloud to let raisins out because my father was sick of “baby-sitting” (or after a few drinks ;“cock-blocking”.)
Spring 1985
A new Shiatsu moved into the neighborhood a few houses down. All of Raisin’s friends migrated down the street to play with her but it was all right because I had a litter of puppies to play with and Raisins made a new friend; the Collie from up the street where the dogs used to hang out before my house.
Raisins and Collie would play in the front yard but mostly just hang out and watch Shiatsu’s house and the old gang. If Raisins and the Collie could talk it would probably have gone like this.
Raisins: “Look at that little slut with her bow ties in hair. Please. She’s like a foot tall. What do they see in that bitch?”
Collie: “ They’re just scum bags. Only thing she has is the Asian chick thing going for her. When the novelty wears off they’ll be back.”
Many Years Later
Collie was right about one thing. The novelty did wear off but they did not come back. Most of the old gang died or moved on and the new dogs in the neighborhood no longer could run free. Raisins, Collie , and the Shiatsu now sat together in my front yard. Raisins is on her last legs, her hip a constant problem, which made her once graceful stride into a labored wobble. Collie fur was no longer brilliant and groomed. It was worn and matted her brown face now peppered with white; the Shiatsu long since the prized beauty, her bow ties gone and the impeccable grooming far neglected. She resembled a large rat more than a dog. Bitter and scorned they talk.
Raisins: “I heard Oscar got hit by the UPS truck. I told you that moron would get himself killed”
Collie: “Who cares? He wasn’t good for anything anyway. I wish they castrated him as a puppy. Would have saved me the most boring 2 minutes of my life.”
(They laugh)
Shiatsu: “You say it! Good at nothing. And smell like poop.”
Women I see today remind me of these favorite ladies of mine.
On the LTR section of CL, I see young girls making demands while I see older ladies making offers.
In the office, I hear the ladies gossip about other male co-workers, their husbands, and myself
When I walk into a bar and see a pretty girl with men prowl about her. A guy sitting on each side trying to start a conversation with her while the lesser men lurk waiting for him to slip; I think of the Shiatsu.
To her I say this:
Pick your dog while you can and treat him well. You won’t be a young Shiatsu forever. Whereas if we choose, we can have our fun until the UPS truck hits us.