Rock on

The mountain man/hippie type:


Rugged.

Wild.

Beard. Big beard.

Hair. Long hair.

- - -

Work started out wild today. In between a tail amputation and a woman almost going ballistic because she was sick of caring for her allergy prone dog, my favorite co-worker, Kim, on a whimsical moment, handed me a fake diamond ring to wear when most needed.

Tucking it into my pocket, I soon forgot about it, lost in the hectic Monday.

Enter:
Mountain Man!

He is a relatively kind fellow, who loves [adores!] his wolf mix dog. However, she is getting up in her years, and he has decided of late that he wants to adopt a malamute puppy.

I try to be generic and converse with him but our initial conversation goes like this: (me in purple, he in blue)

"Hi! How are... good are you? you?
"I'm great! How is... How is work? ...your dog?"

As you can see, completely jumbled. And awkward. I don't like having mixed up conversations.

Cautiously avoiding his ever longing gaze (trust me, I know what I'm talking about here) he hands me his business card saying that he wants me to call him should I ever get the low down on a malamute puppy for sale.

Then, slipping it into the same sentence, he tells me to hey, just give him a call if I ever get:

A) Lonely
B) Bored
C) Hungry

He'll "entertain me".

Immediately, visions of a creepy cabin in the woods enters my mind.

A silence ensues. I stare at his beard. His long hair. His beard again.

I decide, facial hair is weird.

Then I do the most logic thing; I change the subject back to puppies. I wish, in this moment that I was wearing my faux diamond ring.

If ever questioned, (as I often am to my relationship status), I could quip:
"Yes, my non existent boyfriend gave it to me"

It would work charms! Wonders!

But alas. We talked about puppies. We talked about finding puppies on craigslist. We talked about exchanging a puppy for blown glass. (He's a glass blower).

Upon leaving, Mountain Man asks my name. I tell him and he says:

"Rock on"

Indeed, friends.

Rock. On.