Earlier in the week, I introduced you to my new neighbour, Captain Hobo who had a predilection for letting the dogs of the house run free with the back door open for their convenience.
Yesterday, I went to take my canine sidekick for a walk when I found Jake, the golden retriever who lives downstairs, sitting by his front door, no owners in site.
Me and the pug did our 30 minute lap and returned to find Jake still sitting out front. Not wanting to be the guy who overreacts to the dog sitting out front of his own house, Luke and I had a little visit, ran around in the backyard for a bit and brought Jake back to his front door to await his owners.
When Sarah called to say she was on her way home, I told her about Jake and we agreed that if he was still outside when she got home - 90 minutes after my initial visit - we'd bring him upstairs for some food and water.
Sure enough, Jake came barreling over to the car when Sarah pulled in and he came to check out our house for a while.
We left a note on the door and began to wait. And wait. And wait.
Three full hours after I'd first encountered the stranded dog there was a knock at the door. Jake's owners "girlfriend" - a.k.a. the Hobo's daughter - was aghast that the dog had been outside, swearing that she had closed all the doors with him safe in the house.
Now I'm no genius, but as far as I know, dogs can't twist doorknobs and let themselves outside. Maybe if it was a handle and he could push down on it, but without a thumb, there is no twisting of doorknobs going on.
That means, whenever she left for work - and she works at the golf course, so it had to be at somewhere around 4:00 at the latest - Jake made his way outside without her knowing and spent the better part of the afternoon chillin' without a house to relax in.
Now, it's only been a week and I don't want to rush to judgment or anything, but unless the guy who actually lives in the condo below us - the apparent boyfriend of Little Miss Lost Dog - comes home soon, it's going to be a long summer dealing with mongoloids who don't know how to look after one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met.
Next time this happens - and I'm betting there will be a next time - I'm charging them $10 an hour for room and board.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Hobo Update: Kyte's Dog Rescue
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Meet My New Neighbour
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.
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