Walking the Dog

A lot of interesting things happen when I walk my dog. A lot of interesting people come up to him. But last night takes the cake in recent memory. My Alaskan Malamute stopped to relieve himself, no. 1 style. A gringo* joined him. I kid you not. A gregarious Spanish-speaking Mexican fella walked up beside him, whipped it out, and aimed at the same spot -- all while my dog was still peeing! -- to dispense processed cerveza, I imagine.

*Well. The. Hell. Something new is learned every day. It was brought to my attention that my usage of gringo was contradicting the additional context. That is true.

Here I thought gringo was the Mexican equivalent for outlaw or cowboy. I was somewhat close but definitely not close enough. Had no idea it is a disparaging term let alone that a white feller is supposed to consider being called it disparaging. That's what I get for watching old westerns with my head in a bowl of popcorn. That and an awful ear for speech makes me often oblivious to linguistic stereotyping. My mistake. 6:30 pm