“How old are your dogs?” Having senior chihuahuas, my wife and I received that question a lot, although always in a well-meaning way.
One pleasant, sunny afternoon, I was walking both dogs as we encountered a gentleman, sitting on the corner, in broad daylight, smoking weed. Totally legal, so no one cared. In fact, he appeared to be on his lunch break from work, so I gave him extra points for that.
As our group turned the corner and passed in front of him, he asked, “How old are your dogs?”
I said, “About twelve years old,” which they were at the time.
That surprised and delighted him. “Wow, that’s like 40 years old in dog years.”
As a numbers person, I was somewhat bewildered by his calculated figure, but didn’t cast any judgment. My only thought was, Damn, that’s some good weed.
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