The matter of the Scottish Terriers

You know, I almost forgot to mention the matter of the Scottish Terriers.

I was on a walk last Saturday, listening to iPod with my ancient stereo headphones on, the ones handed down from my brother. They are old school kind that look like ear muffs, with a big old indoor-length cord which practically drags on the ground if you don't make a concerted attempt to wind it up. These headphones have five advantages over traditional ear buds:

1. They keep your ears warm.
   
2. They block out loud cars with muffler problems driven by young, angry dudes
   
3. They don't give you earaches
   
4. The cat can't remove and eat the ear bud covers
   
5. It isn't obvious you are listening to an iPod, so that junior high tweens with bad bleach jobs won't jump you when they are walking home from school
   

I had not before Saturday considered the one major drawback of the headphones: they are vicious tiny dog bait.

So I'm walking along, minding my own business, freezing my ass off and listening to, oh, I don't know, some whiny indie rock song I'd heard 1,000 times and was thoroughly sick of by that point, when I look down to see a woman approaching. She was walking two Scottish Terriers.

Purebred dogs always seem to come in pairs, I'm not sure why that is. I've heard Scotties are ill-tempered, but they make for such cute stickers and hoop skirt motifs that I've always given them a pass, although I am not really a terrier kind of person. I had no reason to be concerned in this instance, anyway, as they shuffled my way, brushing leaves into the gutter with their regulation broom-length haircuts.

Suddenly, one of them attacked.

I heard the snarl, even though I had the iPod up pretty loud; I looked down to see it attached to my headphone cord, shaking it in a violent rage of growls, while the other Scottie looked foolishly on.

The owner stood by feigning shock; surely she was well-acquainted with the neurotic outbursts of this pair by now. Like most purebred dog owners, she may well have chosen these dogs on the merits of these very behaviors. Somehow, the Scottie yanked the headphones from my head; they flew through the air and cracked to the ground as the Scottie fell upon them in a rage. I could hear the tinny blast of the song I had been listening to calling out between the earpieces as the Scottie chomped into the vinyl with glee.

You'd think I'd be furious, wouldn't you? But no. I burst out laughing. Hysterical laughing, like the kind that on rare occasions overtakes you in a particularly idiotic meeting or a classroom setting, and can ruin your credibility within seconds. The woman, cell phone in hand, ran through her patented apology for the cur, yanking him back by his tartan-pattered collar. "Oh gosh, I am so sorry," she simpered. And then of course: "He never does that." He must have been an earbud kind of dog.

After a minute she slowly backed away, as I laughed and laughed. I knew the headphones were fine; they are those spongy, indestructible kind from another era. Probably my brother used them to listen to "Dark Side of the Moon" on his turntable when he was a sophomore in the 80's.

Do I think that dog was reprimanded for his Tourettish public outburst? Oh, heavens no. I know how small dog people are. That woman gave that Scottish Terrier a Pupperoni the minute my back was turned.