The Hater

Kafka and nine-month old Spitzy had found each other and were running back and forth along the waterline, wrestling and growling with delight. Spitzy's owner Anne had been sharing funny anecdotes about her, when a family group approached us. The fortyish man looked like an aging skinhead, with blue eyes, a shaved head and goatee. He had a black hoodie on, and black pants. The wife was standing next to him. The two blonde daughters were about ten and twelve. It was then I noticed his smiling face. He was addressing me.

"Is that your dog?"

"Yes, why?"

"Your dog bumped into me and almost bumped into my kids. If he does that one more time you're going to have problems"

"Are you serious?"

"I am. If he does that one more time you're going to have problems."

He was dead serious and was pointing to a bit of sand on his black pants, and he was no longer smiling. He must have seen the disbelief in my face, because he repeated the last sentence and pointed at the two dogs, who were playing farther away. His wife said nothing. His kids said nothing. They were all staring at me. I looked at Ann and we walked away. Just then Kafka and Spitzy decided to get into it, and I had to leash Kafka. We kept an eye on the whole group, as they ever so slowly left the beach for the parking lot. 

"That was a threat, right?" 

"I think so. I hope he is nice to his kids."

"And that he is not a wife beater."