Our front steps have drawn a unique menagerie of hanger-outers over the years. Everyone from day laborers eating fastfood lunches on the fly to bums drinking whatever on the slow to homeless people repacking their meager belongings to yoga gals having either a pre- or post-class cigarette or two to go along with a too-loud mobile phone chat.
As one who’d never ever do such a thing, I don’t quite understand the sense of entitlement that allows such trespasses, but I’m not so old the fogey that I come charging out with the battle cry of “Get off my property!” Instead I just leave them be and they eventually leave me be — albeit sometimes to pick up after the slobby ones — and yes I’m looking at you yoga gal and the Benson & Hedges butts you stubbed out on the stair and pitched onto the sidewalk. Gah.
Today, I met a new member of the group. I’ll just call him Guitar Guy and his dog Fret. I discovered them after Ranger set to barking hard. Not her “there’s a squirrel outside” bark, more like her “Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!” bark. Trust me, there’s a big difference.
So I looked out the window and sure enough this is what I saw a few steps up from the sidewalk:
It was enough to get me to open the door just to assert my presence and in so doing he turned and offered a polite greeting that I returned before asking if I could help him. He asked if it was OK if he sat there. I said, why not.
He and his dog sat there about an hour. Later on when I went to get the mail, I found the only thing he left behind was a guitar pick. I brought it inside as a souvenir.
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