I was driving down the alley when this old fellow (“old fellows” are, by definition older than me) opened his gate and his little dog ran between his legs right into my path. I slammed on the brakes kicking up a cloud of dust. A look of relief came over his face (the man’s) when he realized I had not flattened Rover. The dog looked aged. He was sprinkled with gray hairs in his coat and he was a little overweight. I had come close to sending him to his doggy reward. His owner grabbed him up, came around to the driver’s side and I rolled down the window to hear what he had to say.
“Oh thank you!” he said, his little dog safe in his arms.
“Sure glad I didn’t hit him,” said I.
“Me too!” he replied. “You want some granite slabs?”
“Uh…granite slabs?” I asked, a little confused at the abrupt change of subject.
“Yep. I’ve got eleven of ‘em,”
“Well, I don’t know…”
“Well, I’m puttin’ eleven of ‘em out here in the alley for anyone who wants them.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it.”
I slowly drove off, pondering the unlikely conversational combination of old men, old dogs and old granite slabs.