His owner dragged him away and smacked him, yelling "NO!" while we kept insisting that it was all right.
"It's not all right with ME," he barked. "Don't interfere with my dog."
I never have trouble interfering. It's what I do best. "He's just a puppy," I said.
He kept scolding his dog. His wife/girlfriend corrected me. "He's seven."
He really looked like a puppy. They probably starve him. Besides, if a dog is seven years old and untrained, it's not his fault. It's the owner's.
I would have liked to do a little dognapping.
Since that was impossible, we went over to the Community Gardens with cameras to see if anything was in bloom. I met a woman named Stefanie, who was sitting on a stone bench watching her pet chicken peck at the grass. The chicken was a Rhode Island Red. They were both blondes.
We were having a nice conversation about her native Holland in which she complimented me on pronouncing Scheveningen correctly. It's a lovely beach I visited long ago.
Another woman abruptly confronted Stefanie, snarling, "I don't want that chicken here."
She looked as if she would think nothing of scalding the chicken, live, over hot coals. And Stefanie, too. "The police are looking for it," she growled.
Stefanie picked up the chicken and cradled it in her arms. "For a chicken?"
Flip ambled along and I introduced him to Stefanie, who is a beautiful woman.
The other woman, Linda, had a walk on her that many truck drivers would envy. She accused Stefanie of stealing her lemon tree.
Flip said, "How do you steal a lemon tree?"
Linda ignored him. He said, "She didn't steal your tree." His loyalty is always heartwarming.
Stefanie told Linda that she was gardening in the plot assigned to HER. There is a 5 or 6 year waiting list for plots in the garden. Bloody duels have been fought over less, historically.
Linda said that the assignment was a mistake, and that it was really hers.
Stefanie said, "My husband cleared the entire plot."
"Not my fault," said Linda.
"He worked very hard," said Stefanie.
"Tough shit," said Linda. "You stole my lemon tree, thief."
"Was it a Meyer lemon?" I asked. I was ignored, too. Meyer lemons are the best.
As we tiptoed away, Linda was threatening to report the missing lemon tree to the police. I noticed that Stefanie never actually denied the accusation.
I hope she did take it. I hope it WAS a Meyer lemon tree, and that it provides her with a lifetime of delicious fruit.
And I hope that Linda gets eaten by a marauding band of mangy chickens.
