Dogwalking Banter (May 2024)

This is a fairly lengthy dogwalking conversation between two neighbours whose paths cross once or twice a month while they're walking their dogs in the evening. They live in a neighbourhood of large lots, old trees and manicured lawns and gardens. Their dogs' names are Finnegan, an aging Golden Retriever, and Fred, a Dachshund.

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Hey Fred. Haven't seen you around for awhile. Are you getting a little chubby, boy?

Hasn't been getting much exercise. Work's been keeping me at the office late. Finnegan, how you doing boy. He scratches behind the dog’s ears and wipes the slobber off his pants leg with a handkerchief.

Were you at the town council meeting a couple of weeks ago?

No. Was that the one for the vote on the new development plan? I think I read something about it in the local paper.

Looks like they're going ahead with the plan to build up to 65 storeys in Midtown.

Guess it’s true then. This little 103-hectare plot of land really will be as dense as Manhattan.

Thinking about getting out?

Not yet. Moved here to get away from the city and am not ready to evacuate again. Besides, what's left to move to?

What bothers me is the congestion . . . of people and cars. You know there's gonna be more crime, more traffic delays. It'll be as bad as the city.

It won't be a 'town' anymore, that's for sure. But people have to have a place to live. We did.

Why can't they find another place? I mean, why does all this development have to happen here? And why this sudden population explosion?

The city's always been the place where people go for work and lots of us out here made, or still make, our money there. That’s true with me. You too, maybe.

But all these immigrants. For God's sake, we're doubling our immigration quota. Why do they have to come here?

Wars, famines, climate change—all that is driving people North. And us—Baby Boomers—we need workers to pay for our old age, and right now there are too many of us and too few of them.

Fred, your owner hasn't always been this 'woke' has he?

No. I think it's just aging, but I feel it's happening faster than I thought it would.

What do you mean?

Finn, if you could talk, you might understand.

Hell, I'm older than you . . . at least I think I look older, a lot older.

Finn, does your boss man always fish for compliments?

No, listen. I'm serious. We've worked hard to get where we are. We have kids and grandkids.

And they'll find their way. Just like we did. I hope my granddaughters will be better stewards.

What? Stewards? You're sounding kinda crazy. What's up with the old man, Fred?

Seems to me that we—speaking for myself—have only become conscious of our obligations to the next generation after having plundered what we could to provide the best for ourselves.

Fred, has your old man gone Antifa, because this sounds un-American to me?

Finn, you've got a great pal there. He takes great care of you and always will I expect. But Fred, I think we're gonna late for re-heated dinner unless we head home now. Take care of your old man, Finn.

Fred, maybe next time your old man will be back to his old self. This is crazy talk and dangerous thinking. Remind him where he lives, eh Fred?