Please Put Safety First

Walking a dog should not be dangerous.  Aside from the occasional unleashed retriever or disoriented skunk, Corky and I never encounter peril on our daily walks.  Until yesterday.

There we were, ambling along.  Well, I was ambling.  Corky, with her 6-inch Frenchie legs, was trotting. We were having a chat about whether the boxer who lives on our street would finally manage to break the picture window in his house.  He invariably announces his disapproval (or maybe it’s just excitement) when we pass his house, by throwing himself at the glass, which shakes and rattles in an unsettling way. 

The glass held on this particular day, and we continued on our way, toward the patch of ivy that is the neighborhood bulletin board for dogs.  Corky spent a good three minutes deciphering the messages left in the ivy before I grew impatient.  I moved her along before she could make a deposit.  I hate reaching in there to scoop.  I’m afraid I’ll encounter a rat or a snake.  Or a rat snake. 

We were on our way back home when it happened.  There is a house for sale on our street, and it being a Tuesday, it was being looked over by every realtor within a 20-mile radius.  One of them almost ran us down.

I try to keep close to the side of the street, as we have no sidewalks and the street is winding and narrow.  I was carefully skirting a BMW parked at the “for sale” house, when a Mercedes flew past me, almost hitting Corky, and screeched to a halt in front of us, at an angle that blocked us in between the cars.  I was stunned, and stumbled forward, trying to squeeze between two garbage cans.  I promptly fell on my face.  Or rather, on my bum, catching myself with my left hand, which was now scraped and bleeding.  Corky, seeing that I was in licking range, promptly starting kissing me.

From my seat on the asphalt, I looked back toward the house, where well-dressed people with clipboards were entering the tasteful foyer.  A woman with anchorwoman blonde hair poked her head out and asked, “Are you okay/?” She popped back into the house before I could answer, “Well, I was a lot better before you almost ran me over.”

She didn’t hear me.  She was focused on seeing the features of this new property on the market and assessing her chances of making a hefty commission.  I’m guessing the spec sheet described our narrow street as and “charming” rather than “treacherous.”

I didn’t mean to write another rant so close on the heels of my “Oh, Behave!” column.  But seriously, it’s hard to think of anything else when you’re nose-to-nose with the grill of an S-Class Sedan.  This driver was in need of the kind of scathing lecture only I can provide, but I was robbed of the opportunity.

Corky and I limped home.  Well, I limped, she again trotted.  As I washed the blood off my hand, I fantasized that the huge boxer down the street would break through the plate glass just as the Reckless Realtor stopped to admire the pavers on the driveway.  I’d like to see HER try to get past the garbage cans in those high heels.