SO dan and I are walking the dog in the boy scout camp late one afternoon and I spot someone in the distance wearing a bright orange vest.

“I know that woman up ahead,” I tell Dan.  “She’s a drunk.”
“What woman?”
“The one up the hill, in the vest, all the way up there.  See her?”
“How do you know she’s a drunk?”
“Because she walks her beagle up here every morning and her breath always smells like alcohol.”

Dan starts walking a little faster.  He can’t wait to meet the drunk lady.  (Remember, we live in NJ.  This sort of thing is fun for us.)  But as the woman gets closer, we see that it’s a man.

“Damn!” I say, “It’s not her.”  But then I spot the beagle.  Turns out the husband of the drunk lady borrowed her vest.  The dog comes running down the hill to greet us.  I bend down and the dog starts licking my face and running around in circles.

“Down!!  Right now!  Off!” the husband of the drunk lady yells.

“It’s okay.  We know each other,” I assure him, and continue to kneel down and kiss his dog.  The drunk’s husband and Dan shake hands and introduce themselves.  I take notice of the fact that the husband is wearing pajama bottoms and it almost looks like he has a little hard on.

“Nice vest,” I say, half joking around, half hoping he’ll bring up both the whereabouts and drunken behavior of his wife. 

“Well, I wear this vest with good reason,” the husband says.

“It sure is cold out,” I say, feeling as though I might have embarrassed him.  The vest is skimpy on him and he’s apparently touchy about it. I’m immediately grateful that I didn’t say, “Nice hard on.”

“There are hunters in these woods,” he says, adjusting his thick, round glasses.  “Why just the other day I saw a car parked down there in the lot and I saw a fella get right out of his car with his gun.  He aimed and shot point blank at a deer that was just crossing the path.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say.

“I wish I were.  But the truth is I saw it with my own eyes.  It’s murder if you ask me. Out and out murder.  I spoke to the park ranger about it, but he claims to know nothing about it.”

“Those poor deer,” I say, meanwhile Dan is nudging me to keep walking.

“Murder!” the husband says again, really loudly.  “Absolute murder!” I slip my arm into Dan’s.

“And you can be sure those jerks don’t even look around to see if there’re any hikers nearby before they just start shooting. The bullets in a gun of that caliber could travel as far as a mile.  If you ask me people like that should be shot themselves.  Right out in the open. Stripped and shot.”

I start sweating a little on behalf of the murderers.

“It’s a crime, that’s for sure,” Dan says and whistles for Mikki.  “C’mon girl, we gotta get going.”

“I mean if you’re going to hunt, follow the rules!  I take my wife and son upstate every once in a while where a bunch of us shoot pheasant.  Sometimes I bring our dog, although I don’t think she’s quite ready. My wife hated it at first, but she’s slowly getting used to it. The way it works is the dogs run through the bushes and scare the birds to fly up.  Then we take aim and whatever happens happens.  It’s a sport, not murder.  It has to be played like a sport, or it’s not. . . .”

“Fair to the other hunters?” I suggest. 

“Well, exactly.  There are rules,” the drunk lady’s husband says.

“Rules for killing,” I say, and stomp my foot.

Dan squeezes my arm.

“What do you do with the pheasant after you shoot it?” I ask.

“Why we eat it, of course.” 

“ Ewe, seriously?” I ask. “You shoot birds and eat them?”

The drunk lady’s husband chuckles as Dan whistles again for Mikki.

“That’s the whole point.  You don’t just shoot an animal for no reason.  The problem with certain people is that they think they can change the rules to whatever suits them.  It doesn’t work that way in my book or my house for that matter.  I tell my wife and kid all the time, follow the rules and no one gets hurt.”

At this point, I want to call Social Services.  I’m afraid for the drunk lady and her son.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Dan says, “And Happy New Year.”

“Happy indeed.  Happy we survived.”

“What do you mean? Survived?” I ask, and Dan rolls his eyes.  I know we should just keep walking but I can’t help myself.

“Have you seen the way some people drive around the holidays?  They should all have their licenses taken away.  You can’t just give a license to any Tom, Dick or Harry who can pass a simple test. I think people should be retested every year.”

“I’m not a very good driver, so I’m not one to pass judgment on the driving habits of others,” I say.

“Well, it’s admirable of you to admit the fact that you can’t drive. Most women can’t drive or admit it.  It’s a biological fact.  It’s nothing against them. It’s just the way they’re made.  Same with Asians. It’s not fair to the rest of us. I tell my wife all the time to watch out for them. Lord knows I should tell everyone to watch out for her too!”

“I think you’re right about retesting.  Not necessarily every year, but once in a while.  Still, I don’t think it’s fair to stereotype like that.”

“Stop talking to him,” Dan whispers.  He tells the drunk lady’s husband we really have to go, calls Mikki again, and pulls me away by the arm.  We walk for a while longer until I tell him I don’t feel very well.

“What the matter?” he asks.

“I don’t know.  That guy really upset me.”

“Want to go get a drink somewhere?”

“That would be great, thanks!”

SO dan and I are walking the dog in the boy scout camp late one afternoon and I spot someone in the distance wearing a bright orange vest.

“I know that woman up ahead,” I tell Dan.  “She’s a drunk.”
“What woman?”
“The one up the hill, in the vest, all the way up there.  See her?”
“How do you know she’s a drunk?”
“Because she walks her beagle up here every morning and her breath always smells like alcohol.”

Dan starts walking a little faster.  He can’t wait to meet the drunk lady.  (Remember, we live in NJ.  This sort of thing is fun for us.)  But as the woman gets closer, we see that it’s a man.

“Damn!” I say, “It’s not her.”  But then I spot the beagle.  Turns out the husband of the drunk lady borrowed her vest.  The dog comes running down the hill to greet us.  I bend down and the dog starts licking my face and running around in circles.

“Down!!  Right now!  Off!” the husband of the drunk lady yells.

“It’s okay.  We know each other,” I assure him, and continue to kneel down and kiss his dog.  The drunk’s husband and Dan shake hands and introduce themselves.  I take notice of the fact that the husband is wearing pajama bottoms and it almost looks like he has a little hard on.

“Nice vest,” I say, half joking around, half hoping he’ll bring up both the whereabouts and drunken behavior of his wife. 

“Well, I wear this vest with good reason,” the husband says.

“It sure is cold out,” I say, feeling as though I might have embarrassed him.  The vest is skimpy on him and he’s apparently touchy about it. I’m immediately grateful that I didn’t say, “Nice hard on.”

“There are hunters in these woods,” he says, adjusting his thick, round glasses.  “Why just the other day I saw a car parked down there in the lot and I saw a fella get right out of his car with his gun.  He aimed and shot point blank at a deer that was just crossing the path.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say.

“I wish I were.  But the truth is I saw it with my own eyes.  It’s murder if you ask me. Out and out murder.  I spoke to the park ranger about it, but he claims to know nothing about it.”

“Those poor deer,” I say, meanwhile Dan is nudging me to keep walking.

“Murder!” the husband says again, really loudly.  “Absolute murder!” I slip my arm into Dan’s.

“And you can be sure those jerks don’t even look around to see if there’re any hikers nearby before they just start shooting. The bullets in a gun of that caliber could travel as far as a mile.  If you ask me people like that should be shot themselves.  Right out in the open. Stripped and shot.”

I start sweating a little on behalf of the murderers.

“It’s a crime, that’s for sure,” Dan says and whistles for Mikki.  “C’mon girl, we gotta get going.”

“I mean if you’re going to hunt, follow the rules!  I take my wife and son upstate every once in a while where a bunch of us shoot pheasant.  Sometimes I bring our dog, although I don’t think she’s quite ready. My wife hated it at first, but she’s slowly getting used to it. The way it works is the dogs run through the bushes and scare the birds to fly up.  Then we take aim and whatever happens happens.  It’s a sport, not murder.  It has to be played like a sport, or it’s not. . . .”

“Fair to the other hunters?” I suggest. 

“Well, exactly.  There are rules,” the drunk lady’s husband says.

“Rules for killing,” I say, and stomp my foot.

Dan squeezes my arm.

“What do you do with the pheasant after you shoot it?” I ask.

“Why we eat it, of course.” 

“ Ewe, seriously?” I ask. “You shoot birds and eat them?”

The drunk lady’s husband chuckles as Dan whistles again for Mikki.

“That’s the whole point.  You don’t just shoot an animal for no reason.  The problem with certain people is that they think they can change the rules to whatever suits them.  It doesn’t work that way in my book or my house for that matter.  I tell my wife and kid all the time, follow the rules and no one gets hurt.”

At this point, I want to call Social Services.  I’m afraid for the drunk lady and her son.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Dan says, “And Happy New Year.”

“Happy indeed.  Happy we survived.”

“What do you mean? Survived?” I ask, and Dan rolls his eyes.  I know we should just keep walking but I can’t help myself.

“Have you seen the way some people drive around the holidays?  They should all have their licenses taken away.  You can’t just give a license to any Tom, Dick or Harry who can pass a simple test. I think people should be retested every year.”

“I’m not a very good driver, so I’m not one to pass judgment on the driving habits of others,” I say.

“Well, it’s admirable of you to admit the fact that you can’t drive. Most women can’t drive or admit it.  It’s a biological fact.  It’s nothing against them. It’s just the way they’re made.  Same with Asians. It’s not fair to the rest of us. I tell my wife all the time to watch out for them. Lord knows I should tell everyone to watch out for her too!”

“I think you’re right about retesting.  Not necessarily every year, but once in a while.  Still, I don’t think it’s fair to stereotype like that.”

“Stop talking to him,” Dan whispers.  He tells the drunk lady’s husband we really have to go, calls Mikki again, and pulls me away by the arm.  We walk for a while longer until I tell him I don’t feel very well.

“What the matter?” he asks.

“I don’t know.  That guy really upset me.”

“Want to go get a drink somewhere?”

“That would be great, thanks!”