The hotness

So far, it's been a crackling hot summer in Seattle. June was nearly the driest June on record. It's my least favorite weather. I tolerate it, but just barely. Some days, the sun and the humidity and the sweating and chafing, the chipper sun-lovers and the paunchy shirtless old guys get to me, and then, quietly cursing it all, I retreat to a cool basement, run the fan on high, and remember that six months ago the city was paralyzed by snow.
*
Today I walked a new route and tried to find something beautiful about this hot spell. It wasn't easy. The graffiti looked greasy and unimaginative. A bunch of drunks cooed at the dog, and the female one said Hi pretty doggy, to me, then laughed with so little conviction that it could have been crying. Tourists fussed with patio umbrellas at a gelato place, trying to make more shade. The grass in the parking strips looked like crispy straw, the dried blond heads like starbursts against the cracked dirt.
*
Forty minutes in, I gave up. The dog was slinking along and panting, tail drooping. On the way back, we passed the drunks again. One fell to his knees. I remember you, doggy. C'mere. My dog shrank away from his waving arms. Sorry, I said. He's hot and he's on his way to get a drink. Still on his knees, the drunk guy said, Ha ha, so am I.

How my dog and I ruined everything

I freely admit that I'm a contrarian. I find conflict interesting, telling, sometimes helpful. That said, I did little to start (okay, and little to defuse) the altercation yesterday with the 2 bearded bald guys and their snarly shepherd mix.
*
Starbucks on 1st Ave S, mid-morning, out front in the sun. Notice The Stranger's Farrah/Michael cover and head past some patio tables to grab one. Out of nowhere springs this pretty big dog, barking savagely. My dog--16 lbs and fierce only in the pursuit of squirrels--falls back, yelping and scared. What the hell, I say aloud, backing away, confused.
*
The dog's people, two middle-aged paunchy bald men, resplendent in scraggly beards and blue blocker sunglasses, start berating me. How dare I startle their dog why didn't I just go away they had been out there for an hour reading their paper with no problems at all with their wonderful doggums.
I point out that said doggums was still barking so hard that saliva was flying out of its mouth. My dog calmly looks at the trio. We go stand in the shade. Look at her she's standing right there you can't stand there go away you're ruining everything. Inside the Starbucks, people watch, unable to hear but clearly enjoying the visuals.
*
I also admit that--now that it was clear that the duo was completely unhinged--I fanned the flames. We're leaving, they declared huffily, and I said Good for you. But we need our paper, they added. It had blown over near where I was standing. Then you better come get it, I said with a smirk. The classy couple stamped off, still winging epithets. They puttered away in an old white Volvo wagon, dog still barking insanely. In unison, the pair flipped me the middle finger and drove away into the hot morning.

Friday Dog Blogging

Here's the pooch in a furry Grinch hat from Amsterdam (courtesy of my sis).

He's long since given up any claim on his dignity.

Sunday Dog Blogging

The pooch, after a slog through icy, snowy streets. Note the hillbilly missing tooth!