I’m the weird neighbor

Our neighbors have a dog.  He’s a 6-year-old Great Dane named Merlin, and he has a great bark.  I met him the other day in their driveway.

I recognize the dog.  I know his name.  I know his breed, and I know his age.  It’s been a couple of days since his owners, our neighbors, told me that information.

I’ve talked to the neighbors at least five or six times, including the day I met their dog.  The first two times, I got their names.

I do not remember their names.  I do not remember where they lived before they moved here.  I do not remember what they do for a living.  I’m positive we talked about those things.

The next time I see them, I’m going to have to tell them that I’m that guy.  “I’m sorry.  I’m the person who remembers dog’s names, but not people’s names, and I feel terrible about it, and what are your names again?  I’ll write them down this time.

Oh, and we work from home every day, so if you ever want someone to let Merlin out or take him for a walk, we’d be happy to do it.”

I actually did say that last part when I met the dog.  I think they were genuinely interested.  John thinks they think I’m crazy, and why would they let their new neighbor (who they don’t know at all and whose name they probably don’t remember, either) into their house?

3 Comments

  1. Limited brain space

    I do the same but usually with kids. Learn one name, the parents are just “X’s mom and X’s dad.” Saves valuable brain cells for the lyrics to off brand 80’s cartoon shows.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Are you a robot? Beep beep boop beep *