Morning: With the other normal dog owners

A vindication of sorts, that there is indeed a difference between the east and west side, in a conversation today under a huge ass umbrella as the soft steady rain poured down on us and our dogs frolicked in the spray:

Me: How was your weekend?

The owner of the black lab/basset hound mix: Oh, great! I don't really remember. I drank a lot. I was on the east side.

Me: Oh. [what else is there to say?]

TOOTBLBHM: You know, the dogs there are really so different.

Me (and the other dog owners): Really?

TOOTBLBHM: Yeah. I mean, there were all these labs and their owners, and they were like, so where did you get him? Who's your breeder?

Me: The ASPCA?

TOOTBLBHM: I know! And they were like, "Mehhhh." And then they asked, "Who does your dog play with?" And I was like, "Uh, pitbulls?" And they were like, "What? Pitbulls?

Me [crowing]: I knew the east side was totally different!

The other dog owners: Yeah, they're kinda weird over there.

TOOTBLBHM: I mean, they can't imagine dogs playing with other breeds over there.

Me: Come here, baby. Oh no, what are you eating? [Running, running.]

The other dog owners: I'm so glad I live over here.

Me: Come back here, you!

Of course, a little in danger of stating the obvious, these canine owners aren't so very far from being called cuckoo as well, and I, Tiresias, have a soft spot for my dog who never responds to my commands, never helps me cross the street, has an uncanny sixth sense for chicken bones and turds, especially human turds, and drools on my foot when I sit down to dine.