A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

What else is new?

Every afternoon, Dusty walks me around the neighborhood.  We stop for potty breaks (his) and various sniffing rituals.  He sniffs for evidence of other dogs.  Lamp posts and fences are his personal favs.  He sniffs the tushies of other dogs that dare to step in his path.  He sniffs the hands and pant legs of friendly humans.  I'm better trained.  I sniff the flowers only.  I'm too busy taking in the beauty of my surroundings to sniff dogs and humans.  The pretty birds, the pretty gardens, the pretty cars. When something mars the beauty of my surroundings, like a special Dusty deposit, I quickly make it disappear into an earth-friendly bag and then dump it in someone else's trash can.  In this way, I feel good about myself and a little bit naughty.  I'm so well-liked in my neighborhood, so thoroughly adored and admired, that people often hand me free stuff, like they do at Costco.  I might get a personal invite to join a Bible Study Group, to which I respond, "Oh, hell no."  I might get a flier for a new nail salon, to which I respond, "Is there a coupon?"  Yesterday, I got a CD.  This is the second time someone in my neighborhood has handed me a CD.  All I had to do was say hello to the nicely-dressed man who lives next door to Cheryl, the mother of Dusty's girlfriend, Scout.  "Do you like Spanish music?" he said, apropos of nothing. This is the sort of non-sequitar I live for.  It's so random, so out of left field, that naturally I said, "Oh, hell yes!"  So Josh, an actor/musician/highly-decorated Vietnam Vet, grabbed one of his own CDs out of the car ("Josh Cruze:  Tengo Que Vivi") and gave it to me.  "Do you like Kvetching?" I asked.  "What language is that?" "It's universal for complaining."  "I speak it fluently," he said. "Then you might like my CD.  'Kvetch Along With the Short Jewish Gal.'"  "I'd love to hear it."  "It's 45 minutes of uninterrupted whining.  I'll drop it by tomorrow."  Music sharing.  A new neighborhood service.  Wireless and free.