By Mike Sauve
A 17-year-old kid in dubious control of his two unneutered Boxers in the “big-dog” section of the Allan Gardens dog park found himself in some trouble on Saturday afternoon.
The rambunctious dogs, guilty of both general mischief and concentrated humping, along with their owner, putatively texting, were no longer welcome.
A NoNonsense Type-A male intervenes with a preparedness and focus that calls into question whether the NoNonsense guy had previously fantasized of just such a scenario that might call his facility with dog discipline to the front lines of primatial conflict.
This NoNonsense Type’s own dog-rearing skills exist beyond repute. Such that he only exchanges ideas regarding the most extra-curricular of dog-training techniques, his basic routine being so inherent to his personality that he cannot conceive of anyone else administering one less vigorous.
The 17-year-old disregards many polite urgings and then pointed requests to leave, so the obviously baseball-hatted NoNonsense Type delivers a bass-heavy invitation in terms not uncertain. He then presumes, verbally, “I speak for everyone in this park.”
Smug and sarcastic, The Youth affects a posture popular among downtrodden urban waifs. His socio-economic status is not immediately evident, though middle class is most probable, and then so this waif-posture was a product of commercial imagery so deeply ingrained as to be mistaken by the 17yo for his own personal self.
The NoNonsense Type doesn’t get the popular support he wants from his dog-owning peers, mostly foot shuffling and ironic snickering, but one old man, perhaps earlier aggrieved by the sarcasm of the 17-yo-Youth, ambitiously delivers even sterner Boxer-humping-related reproaches than the NoNonsense guy himself had, because if there’s one thing crabbiness and age bestow upon the elderly it is the ability to deliver a no-nonsense speech with the best of them, even if in youth you yourself (i.e. you yourself being the old person in question) were something of a shrinking violet and actually quite full of nonsense…
The Youth’s squeals of hip-hop-inspired bravado are his lone instinct w/r/t hiding his fear, the irony being that this posturing itself requires much cartoonishly-pitched speaking.
Then the old man, in what can only be interpreted as a burst of ecstasy, somewhat buffoonishly attacks The Youth, knocking the young man’s hat off and then planting a bizarre clothesline across the back of his neck. The Youth responds astounded, almost amused at this fortune so unlike the one he considers himself entitled to, so unlike what 50 would tolerate.
Now is NoNonsense’s time to shine. The old man has proven himself just ridden with nonsense, having implemented this laughable yet legally-indictable attack. By rights the 17-yo could have turned and slugged the geriatric aggressor, spiraling the thing into assault charges and potential dog euthanizations.
But The Youth, once safely on the other side of the fence, struggling in vein against 200-pounds of wild Boxer, accuses NoNonsense, “You talk all tough to a 17-year-old. You think you’re a real big man. What are you trying to prove and to who? It’s pathetic,” and actually sort of whimpers while pumping his chest outward repeatedly. But still his words ignite a spark of discomfort among the gossipy dog creeps, author included.
Denouement: much justifying and shoulder-patting, to say nothing of the condemnations of Boxer nonsense which went on for untold hours. And so why: these dog walkers so oddly ill-prepared and intolerant of the should-really-be-expected-given-societal-decline insolence of the young?
E.G. The style of rope he provides for rope tug-of-wars between his two totally benign Mastiffs.
E.G. Thoughts of: I’m a surviva/I’m a Hustla/Get Money-Respect & c.
Not an exact quote. In sentences 2 through 4 some of the author’s own hostility towards NoNonsense, which hostility in and of itself is off-putting and typically creepy of the author because NoNonsense has never been anything but friendly and upbeat in conversations with the author, may have bled into an otherwise straightforward (A) journalistic account.
(A) Except I suppose it wasn’t particularly fair to imply that the old man was really a nonsense filled youth: he could have been a very purposeful youth, but given his actions there was little choice but to portray him as rube, fuddy-duddy, absurd and dandyish, and too much of a, “Oh tell me again what kind of snacks you buy for your dog?”-type to be taken seriously. But really who knows anything about him. He may have been a United States marine. Let’s go with that. Scratch entire part about the old man perhaps having been a nonsense-filled dandy as a youth, and make up some mental image of marines storming somewhere and some mission vital to national security he mistook himself for being on when his old marine instincts were stirred up by the combative elder-disrespect displayed by The Youth.