Barking Hassid

He started barking at our golden retriever as he passed us on the sidewalk.

First we looked at each other, amazed. The Golden barked. She's an old lady and easily provoked. Dogs, anyone wearing a hood, and wheels set her off. I pulled Maddy back while my husband tried to restrain our two other dogs, lest then join in the melee.

"What the f-ck are you doing? Jesus Christ. What the f-ck?" We both shouted back at him.

The man puffed out his chest and spread out his arms in some kind of macho gangsta pose. And he smiled back, self-satisfied.

I cannot imagine in what parallel universe, he seriously thought he could pull off that pose of bravado. He was tall and skinny and pale and covered in a black frock coat to his knees, where the white silk stockings took over. Thick, black rimmed glasses further withdrew his credibility in this stance, but the giant mink sphere on the crown of his head ruined any hope for tough guy posturing.

But he just continued his posing as he backed away from us smiling, as we shouted and herded the dogs away.

I turned to Mark, "Is it a full moon or something?"