As we’re now in the short period of time during the year in the Northwest where it’s actively pleasurable to walk a dog, we’ve been doing a lot more actual dog walking than shooing the dog into the backyard to do his business and hurriedly shutting the door behind him to avoid letting any heat out, pantomiming through the glass doors that he should hurry up and do his dog business before he gets soaked through and trails wet dog smell behind him through the house like a filthy scent blanket. On these walks, we’ve had loose dogs rush at us no fewer than three times, their owners seemingly under the belief that the property line will somehow magically contain their aggressive dog. In each of these instances, this cannot possibly be the first time their dog has done this, so you’d think at some point they’d learn and obtain some sort of physical item to keep the dog in the yard…like a fence, or a stake, or a leash. You’d think that when you can afford to buy a home with a country club in your backyard that $3.87 for a dog stake wouldn’t break the bank, but maybe it’s too much to ask when they already have so much on their hands–like a golf cart and a yacht and a dressage horse and the herd of Wagyu cows…something has gotta give, and apparently a penny for a dog collar is one luxury they cannot afford. I blame the economy.

So, each time, I am left to drag my stupid dog away from what is surely a losing fight on his end…each time but one. This time, he ran behind me and snapped his collar in half, leaving me to have to pick him up to physically keep him away from the snarling neighbor dog snapping at my feet while his owner scurries up, saying “Oh gee whiz, I don’t know why he just won’t stay in the yard! Sorry!” “And I don’t know how my boot just found its way into your rectum, by golly I’m sorry!”

As I carried Napoleon home, I began to wonder how he managed to snap his collar in half–it was leather and we’d had it fewer than three months, so it should have been able to withstand the exertion of twenty pounds of fury. I’ve come to one of two conclusions: either my dog is secretly Dog Hulk but only transforms when I’m not looking, or the spinach he’s been gnawing on from our garden gives him Popeye powers. Either way, I don’t think I’m going to tease him with treats anymore.