a shock:

"You have a pot-bellied pig?"

As I said these words and gazed upon the man who nodded his assent, I knew then that Man of the Year was all too common a phrase to lend him. (Plus, I think I saw a preview for the movie of the same phrase, you know, with Robin Williams, and that might be why I called him that in the first place.)

Today's visit began with a trip outside to see my favorite dog, Cozy, who is a leaner and a licker, and one of the best dogs I've met. As I cooed at her and petted her, I noticed someone walking up, and it was he, this man of utter surprises, and immediately, the dog and its owner ceased to exist as the man winked at me. I could hardly open the door and walk inside. I was topsy-turvy, but finally for good reason.

As I gushed about my love for Cozy, he bragged that his dog was the best dog ever. But that his dog was no match for his pot-bellied pig.

I asked, in the only moment of impressive and functional brain power that I managed to emit in his presence, "Are there any other animals in your menagerie?"

He admitted to the inclusion of cats and tropical fish. I asked questions about how the pets got along and whether or not it was legal to own a pot-bellied pig in the city (Beth? Lehn? surely one of you must know...) to which he answered very pleasantly. He said the reason no one had turned him in was because, "They're probably all waiting for me to cook him." Which I thought was a very vaild thing to say with a smile. He's obviously an easy-going guy, just by considering that statement alone.

I realized later that talking to him lately is thrilling. I feel thrilled afterwards. I feel like I could run five blocks straight (normally, I pant after a jog half a block to catch a bus).

And I'm taking suggestions on what to call a man who works manual labor all day outside, but went to an arts school and has a menagerie. And likes to read. And has a funny laugh. And has managed to capture my interest (despite the many other things obscuring the view).