Do You Want To Do The Sunday Usual?

“Do you want to do the usual?” asked Sam.

I had a momentary pang. The usual, sounded in my ears. Is that a bad thing? The usual? I shake my head and smile. “The usual?”

“Sure,” said Sam. “The usual?”

A walk in the fresh air by the river. “Sure,” I said.

Funny the things you think.

11.11am. We take Bruno for a walk down the Yarra.

11.21am. We got the first car park near where we want to go, which is always good.

The sun was shining as we headed across the river.

Bruno ran around with Barry the 10 month old Labrador who is chasing a ball. We tell Barry’s owner that Bruno is obsessed with balls. He doubts Bruno will get the ball from Barry. 

“He’s ten months old, the more running around he does the better,” said Barry’s round faced, smiley owner.

“Bruno is stubborn and persistent, like bulldogs are,” I said. Don’t underestimate him, I think.

Bruno ran around with Barry for a while. They seemed to be having a great time. A black kelpie type dog joined in. He is fast like Barry.

Bruno does get the ball. We give it back to Barry and take Bruno away on his lead. It is time for a walk, anyway.

“Good play,” said Barry’s owner.

Then we meet a large cream Oodle, whose owner was not friendly, followed by 2 kelpies, whose owner was very friendly, on the path. All the dogs sniff happily and keep walking. 

It’s overcast, but warm. It is nice in a t-shirt and shorts.

11.40am. A Jack Russell came the other way on the path, ran towards us enthusiastically. He then went for Bruno aggressively. 

“He doesn’t do that very often,” said the middle aged female owner.

“You might like to put your dog on a lead, so it doesn’t attack any other dogs,” I said.

She didn’t like me telling her to put her aggressive little dog on a lead, and she got argumentative, telling me I was judging her dog having seen it for just 30 seconds.

“I just watched your dog attack mine 3 times, in 30 seconds,” I said. “That’s what I saw.”

She accused me of being aggressive with her. She kept trying to talk over me so voices were raised. She clearly was used to talking over people with whom she disagreed, and I wasn’t letting her get away with it.

She continued to talk over me, persistently, telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I wasn’t backing down, not for a second.

“Be a responsible dog owner, and put your aggressive dog on a lead so it doesn’t attack any other dogs.”

She was furious with me, by this stage, accusing me of being aggressive, accusing me of being rude, accusing me of not knowing what I was talking about. Stupid really, as the first words out of her mouth had been ‘my dog doesn’t do that very often.’ Not, my dog has never done that before, but ‘it doesn’t do it very often’, which is an admission that her dog is aggressive.

If she’d simply said she was sorry, after I suggested she put her dog on a lead, we would have all gone our separate ways.

We kept walking for a short while, but then we turned around and headed back to the car. 

When we got back to the main off-lead area, there was a Wolfhound type dog, a German Shorthaired Pointer and another black Labrador playing roughly. The was humping and tackling going on, so I put Bruno on his lead, just so he wouldn’t get caught up in all of that. The owner of the black Labrador was trying to catch her dog to put her back on her lead. All 3 dogs came over and sniffed Bruno, noses out stretched in investigative sniffs. When the black Lab rolled over in front of Bruno in a submissive way its owner was able to catch her and put her harness back on. 

“If you can just hold your dog there for a minute, that would be helpful.”

We kept walking. It was a lovely morning.

12.06. There was a guy pulling a trailer, full of what may have been, maintenance equipment, I thought he might have been a gardener, but of what, was coming towards us on the bridge as we were walking back to the car. “Look at you, you are nice and slim, and look at him,” he said. He was a very gay, maybe a bit islander, kind of guy.

“Pardon,” I said. I really wasn’t sure what I’d just heard.

“Look at you, you are nice and slim, and look at him.” He was really kind of sweet, I assumed he was trying to be funny, dare I say he was flirting a bit. I think I am out of practise with flirting.

“But, he is supposed to look like that, he is a bulldog,” I said.

“Is he?” He sounded ever so incredulous.

“And thank you for saying I’m slim.”

He laughed.

12.15pm. We got a park in Nicholson Street straight away. Bruno and I are waiting out the front of The Hive while Sam shops. I sit on the tiled floor with my back against the Saigon Village window. Bruno lies out next to me in super dog pose, or as some people like to call it, like a frog, his face between his paws.

A black guy in track pants, with an incredible arse, heads in the complex’s doors.

It was a warm day, so there was any number of guys in shorts strolling by into the complex, their legs and arses at my eye height. Bulges and bums. Blond and dark. Muscular and slim. Tall and short. Hairy and smooth.

‘Soldier on with Codral.’

12.20pm. Sam reappeared with shopping, dropped it off with me, and then headed over to the Asian supermarket.

12.21pm. A have-you-got-any-spare-change lady turned up and sat opposite Bruno and me.

She started to bleat her plaintive call, “Got any spare change.” Repetitively. “Got any spare change.” Like a wounded animal, which I guess she is, in a sense. “Got any spare change.”

I wrote my journal on my phone, as I always do when I am sitting outside a shop waiting for Sam while he shops. It is a good chance to write, time to myself. In plain sight, sure.

Then a strange thing happened, I looked up and a young girl had appeared in front of me and offered me some spare change. My mind raced with a suitable scenario, her mother had sent her back to give the homeless person some money, probably from delayed guilt, and she had got the wrong person. And I had on my good t-shirt too. 

“No, give it to her,” I said. I motioned across the walkway with a glance.

I looked back down to my phone. The little girl returned quickly offering me the change once more.

“From her to you,” she said. What, I think? I took the change, it just seemed easier. I intended to give it to the homeless woman as I left.

12.24pm. Then I heard another voice. “Is that an English bulldog?”

I looked up to see an Asian lady with 3 other young Asian ladies, all with masks on, asked me if Bruno was an English bulldog.

“Yes, he is,” I said. “You can pat him if you want.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’ve never seen one before, he’s huge.” She turned to her friends. They all shivered with anticipation seemingly at the thought of patting Bruno.

“He’s kind of small for an English bulldog” I said “English bulldogs are often bigger than him.”

“Really,” she said. “How much does he weigh?”

“28 kilos.”

She looked back at her friends and they all giggled. I got the distinct impression they didn’t believe 28 kilos was small for an English bulldog.

12.25pm. Sam reappeared. Then he disappeared again, mumbling something about lunch. I go back to writing my journal.

12.30pm. Sam called to discuss if we wanted BBH or broken rice for lunch. “I don’t mind,” I said. “You choose.”

He says he is getting BBH for me and him and broken rice for Charlie, who was still asleep in bed.

12.35pm. A guy stoppped saying “What’s going on big boy,” talking to Bruno, in that inevitable baby talk.

“He’s a bit pooped from running along the river,” I said.

“He’s a lovely boy. He’s a lovely boy. Oh, he’s a lovely boy.” I thought I was probably seeing what this guy looked like when he spoke to his young grandchildren.

12.40pm. The have-you-got-any-spare-change lady is still bleating away. I can’t help but wonder what happened to people like her for them to end up like this? Life is short? Much too short to have to spend any of it like that? Homeless. No certainty. She had a permanent scowl on her lined face. I wondered how long it had been since she had smiled? It is shameful in Australia, some say the wealthiest country in the world, that some of its people are allowed to slip into poverty. She looked in pain as she got to her feet and straightened up. She walked as though it didn’t come easy.

She walked inside and asked those just inside the door for money. They all shook their heads in the negative. Then she came back and squatted opposite me and I realised she was the woman from the lane next to Minh Phat a few weeks ago who doesn’t wear any knickers. I didn’t know where to look, actually, I did know where to look, but it was an unfortunate turn of events. When I looked up again, I think she had just gone and squatted for a wee on the main nature strip on the main road. Then she was back squatting opposite me.

And if you are, oh, let me see, of the right-wing persuasion and you can’t muster any sympathy for such a woman, as you no doubt think it is her own fault that she has ended up in this situation, just picture your own mother pantieless squatting in a shopping centre doorway begging for money. No matter the circumstances, no woman in Australia should end up like that. I even try to picture Lottie like that even for a millisecond and my eyes begin to tear up.

Then I hear the homeless woman say, “Oh please help me, I am homeless.” When I looked up, a woman, who looked like a stylish Lesbian in black jeans and a black t-shirt and short blond hair gelled flat, was talking to her. The homeless woman said she wanted a donut from BonBons, which I thought was an odd choice.

The stylish lesbian bought the homeless woman a donut and a coke and her plaintive call stopped at least for the time it took her to eat the donut.

12.54pm. Sam reappeared. And we left. I forgot to take the change, the little girl gave me, out of my pocket, and give it to the homeless lady, who had been quiet totally involved in eating her chocolate donut since the handsome lesbian bought it for her.

1.05pm. We’re home again.

The sun was shining.

We ate BBH soup for lunch.