[I wrote the following for a writers’ workshop group in 2007]

“Just quit bugging everybody!”

“I don’t know what to do, Scott, you’ve got me so confused!”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s talking about!”

As my college professors would agree, confrontation is aggravating.  For me, it’s frightening.  But there’s a line from The Terminator that eases my fear:  “Look at it this way–in a hundred years, who’s gonna care?”

A few days ago, between rains, I walked along 58th Avenue–facing traffic, as always.  A car in the opposite lane sped past me, and I pointed at it, muttering, “You’re going too fast!”

The car stopped.  The driver opened the door, as I approached.  She had a little boy beside her.  Most of what she said was incomprehensible, though I did understand her repetition of this:  “You the police?”

“You were speeding,” I replied, as I slowed my pace.

“I was going 35–you the police?”

“That’s too fast anyway,” I said, “but you were going faster than that.”

“You don’t know what’s on somebody’s mind!” she said, following me in the car.

What does she mean? I thought, Maybe she’s just having a really bad day.

“You the police, huh, you the police?”

“Maybe I am,” I finally replied.

The woman reached for something, and I immediately thought, Gun!  But she shut the door, and drove ahead.  Then she stopped again, and waited.  Well, I thought, Everyone has to go sometime–if this is my time, at least my problems will be over.  But she finally drove away, and I continued my walk.

Dog confrontations are less frightening–perhaps because they are programmed by instinct, and have no hatred.  Yesterday, I met an escaped pit bull, while walking up Cherokee Trail.

“Buster!” a man continuously shouted–but the pit bull ignored him and continued his conversation with a fenced dog across  the street.  When Buster saw me, he began following silently. 

I switched to a backward walk.  “Whoa, buddy,” I said, “you’d better get back home!”

He stopped, as if reluctant, then finally obeyed his master.

This reminded me of another time, a cold night, also on Cherokee.  A mixed-breed charged through an open gate, barking fiercely.  Startled, then angry, I chased it back into its yard, where it remained.

Then there was the Chihuahua, the bravest of all!  In the afternoon glare, it raced from its porch on 60th Avenue.  I didn’t have to break my pace–I couldn’t help but laugh as it nipped at my ankle, hopelessly unable to get its teeth around it!


  1. 1 frigginloon April 23, 2012 at 12:18 am

    Hi Scott, didn’t realize you have a blog. I thought I would do a drive by.

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