Normally, this is a peaceful, zenuous experience - channeling the powers that be to provide my pet with a healthy, well formed stool to finish out the day, and for myself to peruse the memories of the day and the pre-hectic to-do list for the morrow.
On weekend evenings, however, is when the "honkies" and "zoomies" come out.
These are usually kids in pairs or more, piled into cars (cars are honkies, pickup trucks are zoomies - keep reading), cruising to or from somewhere, looking for what my wife's phraseology book terms as "sh*t's and giggles."
The ritual goes as follows...
I've somehow managed to retain quite a bit of my urban/suburban street sense where my subconscious won't let it's "out-in-public-danger-guard" down.
The honkies have yet to make me jump from surprise. The zoomies succeed in turning my head, hoping to catch a glimpse of a muscle car, only to be disappointed at the site of yet another pick-em-up truck with Flowmaster's and a 3" exhaust (yawn.)
There will come a day, I fear, where my serene little town will get the better of me and my Radar O'Reilly internal tunage won't protect me from the Honkies and Zoomies anymore.
But for now, honk and zoom away. I kinda see it as payback for the infantile things I did while cruising my old souped up Nova in the sweet days of my youth.