Cool Dog v. Stupid Dog

When I run, I of course come across dogs. Some bark like mad, but as they’re tied to posts or behind fences, they don’t trouble me too much. Or else they’ve been trained to stay within their property boundaries. I’ve had dogs that will break away from their property but not charge at me; they’ll trot along with me for a while, looking up to me with adoring eyes. “Who is this goddess?” they must think. “Surely she’d make a better owner for us all!”

However, there are two dogs, a mile and half down the road, who are polar opposites. Their contrast is so striking that they’ve earned names from my family. They are Cool Dog and Stupid Dog.

First, Stupid Dog. Stupid Dog lives in a Stupid House with Stupid Owners. Stupid Dog in unkempt and mangy looking and evil. Stupid Dog, because he is stupid, charges me whenever he sees me. He goes absolutely nuts when I run by his house. The dog will stop whatever he’s doing, charge across the lawn and into the street, barking at me as if I were about to shoot his owner. The dog bears his fangs, puts every ounce of strength into his charge, and usually ends up scaring the shit out of me. His owner will tell me that “Shadow is just a silly dog” and tell me that he doesn’t bite, just barks — and I quote — “ferociously.” I would very much like to report this dog, and have come very close to doing it a few times. It is, after all, crossing its yard into the road to get to me. Clearly against Washtenaw County law. However, a good stomp of the foot and an infuriated, “Go away!” from me will get Stupid Dog to run away with his tail between his legs. I don’t know how much the owner likes it that I scream at her dog, but what else is a girl supposed to do? That dog is positively evil-looking.

A few doors down, though, lives Cool Dog. Ah, Cool Dog!

Cool Dog rocks. Kicks ass. Is the kind of dog every sane person would love. Cool Dog is calm, cool, collected. Nothing rattles this guy. Whenever I run by, he looks up at me for a moment, then puts his head down on his paws, ready for a nap. If I were to run past, dancing and shouting the praises of Cool Dog, he’d do nothing but the canine equivalent of rolling his eyes and going back to rest. He is the epitome is calm. He is Cool Dog.

Cool Dog has a bit of gray in his black coat; he is getting up there in age. Cool Dog wears a blue material around him, too, so I suspect his coolness comes from being a helper/guide dog of some sort. When Cool Dog is outside (and it is rare), he is in his front yard, seated much like the Sphinx – a guardian, but a calm guardian. When he is walking about, Cool Dog has the stroll that I call the “Feelin’ Groovy” stroll. He’s just that mellow, man. Cool Dog looks up, is immediately uninterested in whatever I’m doing, then goes back to his thing. There’s a certain aura of serenity about him, if dogs can have that (and they can).

I imagine that Cool Dog always hears Stupid Dog barking at me, and his reaction is this: “Man, chill. She’s just running, dude, she’s not attacking your dumbass family.”

(Any family who doesn’t keep their charging dog on a leash is a dumbass family. I think Cool Dog would agree.)

Cool Dog must thing Stupid Dog is an absolute idiot. Cool Dog must think: “Why is it my misfortune to be neighbors with this freaky ass dog? Why do his owners insist on giving him caffeine? I’d never share my Chuck Wagon with him.”

Cool Dog’s owners are Kerry supporters and always say hi to me when I run past. Cool Dog’s owners are always tinkering with cars, having a good laugh, mowing the lawn, all while Cool Dog looks on silently. Cool Dog’s owners are Cool Owners.

Next time Cool Dog is outside and his Cool Owners are outside, I might ask the dog’s name. Then again, I don’t want to destroy Cool Dog’s mystique. Cool Dog is Cool Dog.

To sum up: Hate you, Stupid Dog. Cool Dog, you are so very cool.