Typical Lout

As some of you know I am half British. Although born and brought up in the States, I do have relatives in the United Kingdom. Nevertheless, during my last trip to England, I was met by my father’s uncle at Gatwick Airport in London after flying non-stop from Miami. It was the usual long fight north across the Atlantic, and I was fortunate to find several rows of empty seats in the back of the plane, where, after lifting up the seat arms, I was able to stretch out a little and get some sleep before being awakened and asked to return to my reserved seat upon approach to Gatwick. After clearing customs my father’s uncle and I obtained my luggage and brought it out to the curb as he retrieved his car from one of the airport’s car parks, then driving to the curb where I threw the luggage in the boot (trunk) of the car and off we went, eventually making it to one of the ‘M’ Highways and proceeding north to Yorkshire. It was another long trip, finally arriving and settling into their lovely two story brick and stone home. It was nestled in a corner on a cul de sac, beautifully landscaped, and surrounded by what appeared to me to be a wheat or hay field of some kind. My father’s uncle told me the field had been the recipient of several, “crop circles” in the past several years, and that there was a lot of ballyhoo over it from the locals and the media. After a few days my internal clock had reset itself, and we were out and about all over, taking in as much as one could in the week I was there. We were walking around in Sheffield one day, just checking out the shops and stores and vendors, restaurants, pubs, etc…., when I noticed a man walking a dog on a leash proceeding toward us on the same sidewalk. The dog was a bull terrier (like Spuds McKenzie of the Budweiser Beer Commercials shown here in the States many years ago). As we continued to walk toward one another, the dog suddenly stopped, then sat down on his hindquarters (like most dogs do from time to time). The owner attempted to coach the dog into standing up and continue walking, but that dog absolutely and resolutely REFUSED to walk one more step! The owner begged, pleaded, cajoled, and threatened, but ole Spuds – he wasn’t going ANYWHERE. Frustrated, the dog’s owner started pulling the leash so hard the dog was actually being dragged on his paws and hindquarters, finally standing but not moving his legs and digging in even harder. The dog did not seem to be in any pain or discomfort, as if he had been through this many times previously. It was funny only because the dog was so stubbornly and adamantly refusing to cooperate, and had even assumed an angled backwards posture with matching angled paws and legs. I moved out of the way so as not to hinder their progress, but my slight laughing and smiling appeared to irritate the dog’s owner. “Typical Lout,” he said loudly as he dragged his dog past me. I had no idea what that meant, but instinct told me it probably was not good. “If I didn’t know any better,” I turned and said to my father’s uncle, ” I would think I’ve probably just been insulted.” “Your assumption is entirely correct,” he replied. We watched as the dog and his owner disappeared in a turn around the corner. That dog went around that corner in a skid as well. My only regret is I didn’t have a video camera with me. By the way, if either my father’s uncle or I had in any way thought the dog was in pain or discomfort, we would have certainly called the, “Beagle.” He was just telling his owner, “I’m not walking again until I’m ready, and until then you’ll have to drag me!” I might add the British love their pets just as much if not more than we do, but it’s something I have never forgotten.