Sweet sign aside, I think this guy might be squatting in the condo below us.
The early morning wake-up dog took to busting my chops first thing this morning, so we rolled out behind the building to handle our business. As we got close to the condo below us, two things were very noticeable.
1) There was a horrible 80s tiger-face blanket (you know the ones I'm talking about) strewn across the hot tub, as well as some Zig Zags and Export A Green Death tobacco and
2) The back door was slightly ajar.
I learned this last one because a new dog that I had never seen before came out to say hi to Luke. Then the dog that lives there from time to time came out and all three played for 37 seconds before my faithful sidekick decided to explore the new territory.
In he went, checking out the smells of a new house, only to let out a bark two seconds in. Now, he barks at a lot of things - animals, cars passing by, the vibrating Ladybug massage thing I tease him with - but when he's in close quarters, it's only strange people that make him yap.
Sure enough, the above pictured hobo ushered him out the door and started to strike up a conversation.
Now, I'm pretty certain that the guy who actually lives in that condo - sporadically, granted, but still - wouldn't leave his dog with just anyone, so the dude is clearly not a hobo, but you wouldn't know it from our initial interaction.
I mean, he asked if the dog that wasn't his lived there. Nope, he just opened the door and got himself some food before you came around.
He asked what gets poop out of the carpet. Thankfully, he specified it was the dog's, but my response of "carpet cleaner" was met with "I was just gonna vacuum it," so I certainly wasn't in the presence of a MENSA member.
I like to think I have a pretty good handle on feeling out social situations. I can spot an awkward moment a mile away. This guy? Not so much.
When I'm putting my dog back on the leash, collecting his daily donation to the fertilizer fund and trying to walk away as quickly as humanly possible, stop asking me questions about whether I know your daughter, Camille, who apparently "stays here" and talking to me about the weather.
No one "stays here" except Sarah and me. Seriously, we're the only long-term, year-round tenants up here. Even the guy who stays in the condo below us doesn't "stay here" routinely, so how can this hobo's daughter?
I would have thought living in the highest rent district available in town would have meant a distinct lack of hobo presence in my 'hood.
Turns out, I was wrong.
And no, I don't have $4 for your karate lessons.