A walk (Friday, July 22, 2005)

Tony and I are walking on a paved path that goes south along the coast from Miramar. I do not know how far the path extends, since we turned around just before the RV Park, but along the way there are state beaches, undesignated beaches, and pretty much one long beach. It is a gorgeous day--sunny, but not hot; breezy, but not gale force winds. The ocean is many shades of blue and it is sparkling. Intermingled with its roar are the sounds of birds--pelicans, sea gulls, wrens, sparrows, mockingbirds, and others I cannot (or will not) identify. A small brown bunny hops off the trail and into the underbrush; the ring of a bicycle bell lets us know that keeping to the right, in this situation, is correct; we cross the wooden bridge just before the group of girls on horseback on the other side reach it. We're having a lovely walk.

About a mile along, we encounter a rather odd state of pathway affairs. To our right is a strip, about 8 feet wide, of dried out, overgrown grass and other plant life. On the other side of this dead vegetation is another paved path, which I assume is an amenity that of one of the state beaches provides. When we reach this point, a man and his dog are walking on the other path at precisely the same pace that we are strolling along, so we are essentially side by side with about 10 feet of space in between us. Tony is telling me a very animated story about the upcoming move at his work. It is impossible for the man not to hear Tony's voice, if not the content, since, due to the ambient noise, he is talking louder than polite parlor room etiquette deems appropriate.

While I am listening to Tony, I can see that there is something going on with the man and his dog because, every once in a while, I can hear him sort of talking-humming to his dog, in a soothing kind of way. I am wondering if our presence is bothering the dog, the man, or both of them. After Tony gets to the punch line of his story ("Do you really want to be working in a steel box for the next five years?") and that particular subject is winding down, the man turns to us and says something. All I can make out is "excuse me" and "dog." We stop, and I say, "I'm sorry--what?" He says, "Would you mind greeting my dog--he is going crazy over here." This was not what I had expected at all. My immediate thought was that he was asking us to stop so he can go on ahead, because our presence was bothering his dog, and I was all ready to get in an argument with the dude over public spaces and usage. The lather I was building up vanished instantly, though, when I hear him say nearly the opposite of what I expected. We trample on over the dead grass and the dog meets us half-way, a beautiful Airedale. He sniffs us and we pet him, so that seemed like a fair exchange. He was a nice doggy and the man who was walking him seemed nice too. After a brief chat, we continue our separate, yet equal, ways. The paths merged not much farther on, but we were ahead of them by that point.