Friday, December 06, 2013

четвероногое агрессивность

The above reminds me of the night a few years back when the Rottweiler was chasing me.  I let out a couple of primal roars which backed him off just enough to allow my flying escape.  He was a big ‘un.  And he was bustin’ his buns to catch this “slow deer.”  Had we been so lucky it would have been a real rodeo, for sure.  BTW--четвероногое агрессивность  is Russian for Quadruped Truculence . . . and Quadruped Truculence is English for Hell on Four Wheels . . . and Hell on Four Wheels is Mespeak for Vicious Dogs At Large.

Not so long ago, over on the wrong side of the state, a middle-aged woman was sitting on her patio minding her own beeswax, jus’ a chillin' and joyin' the weather.  Her lazy cat lay nearby. Now, felines may not be the brightest bulbs in the animal box, but no one will ever accuse a cat of being a sucker. Cats seem born with an innate suspicion of anything and everything and in a pinch a puss will not rely on a human for jack squat. Nope, a cat can save its own bacon without any help from humanians, thank you. Thus, when two loose pit bulls (“loose”? are there any other kinds?) stormed onto the scene looking for something small and slow to kill, the cat was up the tree quicker than you can say “Osama bin La. . . .”

And so, if the disappointed pits could not fasten their iron jaws onto something small and easy to kill, they turned their attention to something large and a bit more problematic.  By the time the frantic woman dragged her bloody carcass into the house she was a mangled mess.

When cops arrived, the fun-loving pups naturally attacked. The result: Florida cats and humans today count two less loose pit bulls to worry about.

Note—Just because I do not mention Florida pit bull attacks every day, do not assume that they are not occurring every day.  They are.  If these four-legged food blenders are not maiming, mauling and murdering humans, they are tearing limb from limb some unlucky animal, or herd of animals.  Recently, nearly a score of sheep were slaughtered by two playful “great-with-children” pit bulls who “might lick you death” but would “never hurt a living thing.”  Sound familiar?


At a Laundromat in Ft. Myers the other day an uppity senior citizen got smote by some young sixty-something hell-raiser who just didn’t like “uppity’s” lipitude.  Seems the senior of the seniors stole the junior senior’s drier.  Why he did this makes no sense since there were plenty of others free and clear, but hey, this is Florida and nothing makes sense at Senile Sentral.  Junior told him to move the stuff and when the senior senior got lippy and told junior to shove it up his you-know-what, junior shoved senior down instead, then kicked him a time or two just for . . . just for . . . just for kicks.

In the meantime, senior senior’s wife, a lady who probably goes through this drill a dozen times a week, acted amazingly indifferent and simply began folding clothes while her husband rolled on the floor in apparent agony.  What can one say?  Well, one can say. . . .

My Grandma Goldie used to crack me up.  When I would go down there to visit the farm in my adult years I would bring along my Pekingese.   I have always loved Pekes.  They are cute and funny and very loving but, despite their small stature, each also has the heart of lion (in fact, their title in China is “Lion Dog”).  A Peke alpha will back down from NO dog that lifts his leg to pee, no matter how big.  So, when my little10-pound lap dog invariable got in a growling contest at the food dish with one of the good-natured farm dogs that were a foot taller and 30 pounds heavier, Grandma would bring out a small mirror.

“Look,” she would say to the little dog in all seriousness.  “See?  You’re just a little bitty fellar.  Don’t you understand?  HE’S WAAAAAY BIGGER THAN YOU!  Don’t you see how little you are?”

Something similar could and should be said by the poor wives of these really old guys down here who think they are still in their prime and capable of kicking the ass of anyone.  You see them everywhere.  They do a lot of posturing and tuff-mugging and wrinkled-tattoo-showing and loud-Harley-riding and the image these geez are trying to project may have worked back when TR was prez but it looks utterly ridiculous now.  And, as the case above illustrates, such fanciful notions can be dangerous to an old man’s health, happiness and longevity.

UPDATE—The above harkens to that old fool who thought he would give me a hard time a few months back.  As you may remember, he accused me of going too fast on my bike and failure to warn him that I was passing.  Both were figments of his aging and underused brain (I rang my bell several times, then yelled “On your left” twice—as I do with everyone I encounter on a sidewalk who seems to be stone deaf--none of which he responded to.  Thus—again, as I always do--I was forced to go around him and onto the grass because he was creeping along lock-solid in the center of the sidewalk, oblivious that there might be anyone on earth but himself).  Anyway, exhausted and covered in sweat, I continued on and by the time I found a bench to rest five minutes later I had forgotten the entire paltry episode entirely.  But this irate senior had not forgotten, apparently.  Pedaling up to me, he launched into a rant about me, my bike, my lack of courtesy, about the proper way to ride a bike, about how many years he had been riding, and I forget what else.  Anyway, to make a short story of it: Since there was nothing I could do to defuse the situation and make the old bird move on—and for several minutes I had tried--I finally got up and walked over to him.  “Okay, if you are really that angry and that pissed off, then go ahead and do something about it.  Go ahead.  Otherwise, get the hell out of my face.”  Or words to that effect.  I was not a happy camper as I said this, of course, and I’m sure my eyes reflected the fact.  Fortunately for both of us—him, for the amount of hospital time he would spend and me, for the amount of jail time I would serve—he left soon after, still ranting at me.  But curiously, since that day I have seen this idiot several times on his bike and he never fails to shine me a big toothy smile and throw up a big wave.  Clearly, he now considers me his best friend.

This geezer learned a valuable lesson about posturing beyond his means before it was too late.  Unfortunately, the lesson didn’t come in time to help the other old critter in the laundromat above. 

And BTW—the above is a lesson me, myself and I should also take to heart, especially when a young punk of sixty or so gives us the bird.  Prudence before pride--best to act like we didn’t see the offensive digit rather than get a richly-deserved public curb stomp for our efforts.