Standing at the gate with Tucker, Joe’s dog I am babysitting, we watch curiously as she approaches, screaming something at the jumping, prancing Lab. Her harsh tone is offset somewhat by a rather obvious lisp. With a slight groan, I realize it’s Katie and her owner.

If flags are going up because I remember the dogs name and not the owners, they should. She’s a regular. In her mid forties, always juggling a couple of bags and her unfortunate charge. Pushy, socially awkward with no filter, she’s the one in hot pink stirrup pants and the Up With People visor, hovering around others conversations, frequently laughing too loudly at the things that don’t concern her.

“Katie, sit!”

“Katie, I SAID SIT!”

Poor Katie. A young yellow lab, she is full of piss and vinegar, and today she is paying for that.

“Katie, no.”

“Katie SIT.”

“Katie stop. SIT NOW.”

“KATIE.”

Watching this spectacle, I want to say, “Katie, you have my permission to rip her face off. She’s annoying me as much as she is you.” I clench my teeth until they hurt, so I don’t.

Katie just sits there, doing what she has been told, unsure on which way to move. Bosco, an equally peppy Boxer with an overbite, adds some levity when he runs up and lifts his leg over Katie's snout. I assume that a piss facial is just not her thing when she darts off to the tree zone; tone deaf Bosco in hot pursuit.

“Ha, Ha. Did ya see, he pissed on Katie. She is not going like that one, no, she is not going to like it. Ha, ha.” As a sprinkle of spit hits my lip I am again reminded why it is that I try never to stand close to Katie’s mother.

From the corner of my eye I see a flash of movement in the tree zone, then am taken a little off guard to see Bosco crouched and on hind legs, over-sized tongue hanging out and dripping as he gives a spirited pounding to a somewhat dazed looking Katie.

Not waiting to hear the commentary I know is coming, I say to Tucker, the dog who is seemingly transfixed by the real time porn playing out in the tree zone, “Tucker, we’re outta here.”