It was a weird day for dog walking. Just after Lightning had a run-in with a rottweiler, who fortunately turned out to be docile, we came upon a young man and what looked like his mom walking a pit bull. The woman said “Hold ‘im, Cody” to the kid in a chain-smoker voice and I veered Lightning in another direction. I wasn’t taking any chances because they looked exactly like the kind of people who’d own a violent pit bull. You’ve got Ma, the chain-smoking meth addict, and her boy Cody, the kid with the white trash name. Whenever I hear someone say “Hold ‘im, Cody” to a guy with a pit bull, I am outta there . . . Read more →