Thursday, May 30, 2013

Hogie and The Footstool

There's one thing I really love about living in Los Angeles.  Well, there's a LOT of things I love about living here.  But, this blog is about the weirdos, the freaky people.  I looooove the freaky people.  L.A. is like a freaky people magnet. They are drawn to this city and then they seem to settle in my neighborhood.  Many of them on my block.

Tim comes home from work every day and asks me if anything happened. He'll say, "Did you talk to anyone?"  By this, he sort of means, "Any news from friends or family," but he also means, "Did you have one of your super wacky interactions with a stranger?"  At least a few times a week, I've got a story for him.

Take yesterday.  I walk the dog at the same time every day, usually the same route.  But, yesterday I encountered a lady I'd never seen before.  She was in her sixties.  She wore a long white denim skirt, a chambray blouse belted by a fanny pack and on her feet were athletic sandals, the kind people wear water rafting.  She was carrying what looked like a tiny furry footstool that I figured was a dog.  Yes, that's right, she was walking her dog by carrying it.  The "dog" was a bunch of long shiny brown hair that fell on either side of its body and face from a part that went down the center of its back.  Think, Cousin Itt with four legs.  The dog's face was not visible.  I'm not sure it had a face.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, trapping Hogie and I there.  She didn't speak for a second but then she did.  She had that type of low bored voice that sounds like a yawn.  Here is our conversation:

Her:  What do you think, Stella?  Should we try it?

Me:  .....

Her:  Okay.  I think it's going to be great, Stella.  (She puts down the footstool.)

Me:  Hi, Stella.  (Hogie sniffs Stella.  Stella moves about a foot and freezes.)

Her:  She's alone so much.  She's twelve.  How old is he?

Me:  Not sure because he's a rescue but we think maybe 8 or 9.

Her:  It is soooo important that Stella have encounters with her species.  She doesn't get out much.  How do you like that, Stella?  Soak it up.

Me:  Laughs  (I did.  I laughed.)

Her:  Oh, yes, you do that dog!  Stella can smell it later and remember this encounter fondly.

(I look around confused and see that Hogie is peeing on a pillar.)

Me:  Okaaay, well, have a great day.  Goodbye Stella!

Her:  I'm just so happy we did this.  Stella is so happy.

(Stella is frozen, apparently checking out the ground with her non-existent face.)

Hogie and I walked off.  We saw them later on in our walk, the woman carrying the footstool in her arms. We crossed the street.

*photo of Hogie stepping on a smiley face.