There’s a fine line to me between being affable and being annoying. I try to talk up people in most circumstances. Not to be normal, but because I’m usually interested. The only exception is when I walk my dog. For some reason, I don’t like to converse around my dog. Probably because it leads to the same small talk. Whatever the reason, I just stay quiet on our little walks.

It’s late afternoon and I take my dog to the park. The place is sunny and nice and green and free of pollen. A blonde woman stops me and tells me my dog is beautiful. She says he has wonderful coloring, pretty blue eyes. I want to keep moving but she smiles and I break my silence. I crouch down to calm my dog and introduce him to her toddler. The little boy pets him harshly while the mom and I discuss common breeds. She seems nice and then suddenly calls the little boy back. It’s abrupt, but feel it’s an appropriate time to go, so I excuse myself and we go on our way.

When I get home I realize I’ve dropped my keys somewhere along our walk. I put the dog in the backyard and trot my previous footsteps. I return to the park and the blonde woman I spoke with is just leaving. We make eye contact and I begin to smile but before I do, she looks away and continues past without a word. The cold shoulder surprises me.

I retrace my walk down to the soccer field, past the barriers and into the playground. There I crouch down and find my keys in the grass. The same place I was twenty minutes beforehand. I think of the mom again and wonder if she recognized me. The wind picks up and I feel the breeze flow cool above the blades. A cold rush strikes me and I look below.

My shorts are ripped at the crotch. A great view for anyone who wants to know about male anatomy. I look up and the remaining mothers are watching me. They’re thinking, Looks like the park pervert has returned. I pickup the keys and try to walk out with some dignity. Days like this are why it’s best to just be the weird quiet guy with the dog. I’ll take that over the weird flasher any day.

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