There are two older women at the park. Each of them have three dogs.
One of them is crazy. I mean that, I believe, with a high degree of compassion. But I also mean it literally. In the clinical sense. Like she can’t test reality accurately. Paranoid Schizophrenia might be an appropriate diagnosis. But I was never really good at diagnosis.
I’ve never met this woman before, but as me and goose come up she’s yelling at us, “What are you doing! Are you crazy! Bringing your dog over here!”
Her dogs are going nuts. They’re little. Which means they’re loud and high pitched. I keep walking.
I tell Goose, “Don’t worry. Just leave it.”
As we pass she’s still yelling at us. And then not yelling any more. Just loudly complaining, “Oh my God, I can’t believe they did that!”
It’s okay. I want to confront her. But what would be the point of that.
Then there’s the other lady. She’s what you might call normal. She stops as we get close and smiles.
She asks me, “Is your dog friendly?”
I say, “Yes, too friendly.”
We let our dogs sniff each other a little bit.
She says, “Your dog is beautiful.”
She says it a couple times. I say, “Thanks.” Then we go on our way.
I wonder what makes someone one way and someone another way. Why one is crazy and one is sane? Genetics? Life experience? Bad choices. Bad personalities. Who knows.
There but by the grace of God go I, tho, right?