I spend half the year on Cape Cod. As with most beach towns, once Labor Day rolls around, the summer crowds have left. Although some return on weekends throughout September and October, the two most beautiful months of the year on the Cape, during the week, the beaches are generally empty, especially at 7 a.m.
As I do every morning, I took my dog Reggie for a beach walk. A rescue, Reggie is an approximately 11-year-old golden retriever/chow mix. Admittedly, the chow in him gives him just a little bit of an attitude. He’s not scary – he simply thinks it’s his beach.
He likes nothing more than running around off-leash. He barks at the waves, the birds, and sometimes even at passersby.
Suddenly, I heard Reggie barking at a man I hadn’t noticed. He didn’t jump at the man or even bare his teeth. Immediately, I ran over and put Reggie’s leash back on. Smiling, I apologized to the man, joking that Reggie thinks it’s his beach.
But the man didn’t smile back. Rather than accepting my gracious apology, he asked why the leash had been in my hand rather than on my dog to begin with and why I felt I was entitled to ignore the leash laws.
I may have rolled my eyes – in fact, yes, I definitely rolled my eyes, and he said, “You impacted me.”
Rather than really impacting this miserable liberal jerk, the way I would have impacted him in my younger days, I walked away.
Calling after me, he repeated himself saying, “You impacted me today.”
Now that I’ve had a chance to digest our encounter, I’m even angrier. I want to go find him so Reggie can bark at him again and I can fire off the barrage he deserves.
Maybe, I’ll see him tomorrow!
A previous version of this article appeared on Power Line.
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You needn’t dirty your hands. You may however, hold my coat as I do so. Heheheheheh.
I’m a cop and the area I patrol is going through some major road work Over two miles of a residential area is getting dug up, the pipeline replaced and the roads resurfaced. A serious projects but the crew is working well at it.
But not to be outdone, I get dispatched to a “Meet the Citizen” call, which is where nothing else fits. I arrived and asked the woman, “OK, what’s going on?” She apparently had an issue with the road work, and with a straight face said, “I don’t think these people have the permits to rip up the roads like this?”
I took a second to take this level of stupidity in, and in spite of the belief it might help, I did not slam my head against a wall or my windshield. I slowly responded, “Right by the HOA you have a big sigh saying how Harris county is improving your drainage with this project. It’s got all the politicians names on it. That means Harris County had contracted with this company to do this work. THAT is the permit to tear the road up and rebuild it. If you have an issue with that, I think you need to speak with your commissioner…”
Before I lost it, I got back into my car and drove off. I didn’t trust myself to not say what I was thinking.
I guess she was impacted too!