Sunny Sunday

It's a warm afternoon. I've just taken the dogs for a walk. We've just got back.

The sun shone. The sky was an unbroken blue tile overhead.

The cafes were busy, the footpaths were littered with people sitting out on it drinking and eating, you know, tourists from outside the suburb. The down side of being voted a cool suburb.

We met some nice people with a mushroom coloured oodle, who almost got a bulldog named Otto, so they felt some kind of camaraderie. 

We had to deal with a loon who "cried dog cruelty." Bruno has a habit of lying down and making himself comfortable if ever we stop walking on a dog walk, which we did when we caught up for a second time with the nice oodles owners. And when I made Bruno get up from lying down on the footpath to continue to walk the loon who had been following us cried out, "Oh don't, I beg you not to," she said. Her face screwed into visible pain. 

What are you on about, I thought?

Brun still hadn't got up, once he makes himself comfortable, and all that, so I attempted to lift him up again, and the demented one cried out again, "Oh don't, please don't, I can't watch you..."

"Hey, you deal with your dog your way, and leave me to deal with my dog my way," I replied. It is frustrating when you have a stubborn bulldog not cooperating, it is exponentially more annoying when you have the critic section making comments as you try to make the dog comply.

Of course, a crowd had kind of gathered by then, people generally find floppy bulldogs hilarious, today was no exception.

Brun still wasn't co-operating, so again I went to lift him up, and the sandwich short wailed again, this time about calling the police.

Finally I got floppy dog going, with she-who-clearly-hadn't-taken-her-meds today following us up the street until I'd finally had enough of her and I snapped, "Just take a pill, or something, will you luv."

We met up with the old chick with the slicked back straight grey hair who is always pushing a shopping jeep, no matter what time of day seemingly, who always says, "what nice dogs, what nice dogs, what nice dogs," in a broad Aussie accent with a slight whistle on the end of each word.

We said hello to the two lesbians walking their tiny teacup size poodle, Rocco, which they say they named after Madonna's son.

"I wonder if the dick is as big," I say.

Barney laughed. "Poor Rocco," she said.

I wasn't completely sure to which Rocco she was actually referring. Although, I couldn't exactly picture a son of Madonna's with... holding out my little finger. I doubt Madge would have it.

We saw the sporty Asian boy in our street who was just getting back from surfing. He's always in sports shorts, with sleeveless tops with his guns showing. He's smiley and nice. And super friendly.

Our two gay boy neighbours were out in their front garden, in the sunshine, drinking beer out of stubbies, imported, of course.

Now I am sitting back with my feet up with a coffee in one hand and a Toblerone in the other hand. And what is a Sunday without a coffee and chocolate? I ask you?

Sunday, Sunday, time to relax day. Time to clean day, according to Sam. Do what you can day, I say. I fell asleep on the couch for a few hours in the later afternoon, just to top off an already pleasant day.

But, pity it is already Sunday, too, as there is work for me tomorrow, but I think I'll cope, working from home. A couple of days back at it, then I am off until mid way through the second week January.