It’s happened again. I was walking Bridget in my neighbourhood and saw a small black dog approaching. As it came closer I realized it was a Scottie. And as it came even closer I realized the owner was ignoring us, even pulling his dog around a corner to avoid making eye contact. At this point, I also realized it must be the Scottie owner who had cut me dead once before.
Last time, he was en route to the beer store in a big hurry so I just assumed he was drunk and in a bad mood. This time it was early in the day and he looked stone cold sober so I’m starting to assume he’s a complete misanthrope.
This is particularly bizarre given that people in Toronto strike up conversations with you on the street all the time. In any case, I’m chalking it up to the mysteries of life.