More Than Likely

The fun thing about Mondays is trash and recycle pick up on Grandma's street. Today, i was able to have two separate appointments with Gma, one at ten, and one at two. She lives on a narrow street, it's all curvy and hilly, so it's pretty fun to drive. It's more fun on Mondays when everyone has two to three trash cans at the end of their driveways, or, more likely, in the street. (I use the term "trash cans" loosely here. Everyone knows this is California, so there aren't three trash cans, but one really small can and two huge recycle and green waste bins, it's just that i don't have a good term for all of them.)

Well, today, not only were the trash cans out in force, but there were a few dog walkers as well. This adds another exciting element to my daily Grandma duties.

So i'm taking Gma home this afternoon, and we pull onto her street, and she says:

There he is, walking his dog again.

You know, sometimes she gets aways from him.

I don't even know if it's a she. More than likely it's a he.


Me: More than likely.



I don't know how Grandma comes up with this stuff. She blames all vandalism (especially fires) on homeless people, the economy on the newspaper, and her pains on the fact that she can't drive anymore. And this dog was clearly a he.

So i drop Grandma off, bring down her trash can, (but not the recycling bin, it hasn't been emptied yet, Dad will have to bring it down after work) and i head for home.

I begin to wonder about the dog, so i slow down, roll down my window, and come to a stop near the man and his dog.

I say, "Wow, what a beautiful dog! What kind is it?"

Him, "Big and black."

I laugh.
This kind of humor is appreciated in our town.

He then says, "Oh, he's a Giant Schnauzer."

After a few more pleasantries i drive off.

So Grandma was right. The dog was a he.

Maybe i should take her to Vegas.