Once a week, I drag my dustbin and my monstrous recycling bins out the gate and down a few stairs to the curb to be picked up by the dustman and the recycle man. This morning, I opened the gate, and in front of me were a colored ball, and a pair of soulful eyes looking at me. The soulful eyes were looking, the colored ball was not. The colored ball turned around and turned into this fellow, a very nice man who had stopped to sit on my steps and admire my flowers (weeds actually.) He leapt up to help me with my burdens. “Those are too big for a frail old lady!” he exclaimed. Somehow, that is not how I envision myself, but …. whatever, as my sainted father would say. The dog is Captain Fantastic, named after the man’s captain in Viet Nam. The captain never came back, leaving a wife and two children. When will they ever learn?
N.B. The tattoos seem to be all birds.
12 hours ago