A soft spoken woman lives off of Van Nuys, somewhere between a gas station and a popular Greek spot. I know this because each morning, when I take my morning walk, there she is, standing in those gray airport flip-flops. Disheveled, confused, waiting for her dog to poop, but I can tell she means well. She walks her dog, or rather that BIG son of bitch walks her. He’s a Great Dane, a Greyhound, maybe, I don’t know. I’m not much of a dogsmith. But you get the point, he’s too big for her. Every time I see her, she’s being pulled in all kinds of different directions. Helpless. I don’t even know the dog’s name because half the time, you can’t make out what she’s saying, because his barks are louder than her voice. And I can’t help but wonder, why would you own a dog, you can’t handle? And one day, it all ministered me. See, I’ve learned God can use anything to speak to you, if you’re paying attention. So, she had him by the leash, right? And she thought finally, I’ve got this joker in control. I saw her toes grip down into those sandals like she had eagle’s claws. I even saw her get a little pep in her step. But as soon as this young sassy bitch (I’m talking a female dog now) hit the corner, and his senses started percolating…He snatched away from his owner so hard, she fell forward and he pursued his real master, pussy. I’m sure you’re wondering if I helped her. Honestly, I didn’t…but I felt more inclined to call my ex, and break up with him again.