Friends
On my way into work, I take the same route pretty much every day. A couple of turns, then a long drive into the office on a winding straightaway with a few lights sprinkled here and there, twisting through residential areas sprinkled with houses and apartment complexes housing good Christian students for the nearby private school. Not a lot of beer cans littering the parking lots around there, like the apartment complexes where I went to school.
There's a man who walks his dog the same route every day. And I see him every day. I have no idea what the man looks like, except that he is likely somewhere in his 40's or 50's. I think he's tall. But he has the best dog.
It is a golden retriever. And he's beautiful. I call it a he, but I don't really know if it is a he or a she. He's a big dog, one of the really tall retrievers. His head doesn't look very broad, but I see him from the distance of three car lanes, so it is hard to be sure. He's getting white around the muzzle and I know he's had a long, good, healthy life. His fur is long and lovely and he wags his tail constantly, letting the world know he's just enjoying his time here, on this walk.
His owner never uses a leash. This made me nervous, when I used to first see them, when I began using this route to work. Now, it just makes me smile. The dog is never more than a leash length away. I think the owner has the dog fooled into thinking there's a leash on him, that he can't get any further than that. The dog never makes a sudden move, never chases squirrels, never darts around. He's constant, steady and calm.
Today, I was running a little late. When I saw them, they were at the crosswalk, waiting for the light. The owner was back where the sidewalks actually crossed, a few steps behind the curb. The dog? Was standing on the curb, waiting expectantly. Either for the light to change or for his owner to tell him it was time to go. In his mouth? A plastic bag, undoubtedly filled with doggy poo that his master cleaned up and, in order to give the retriever something to do that felt like a job, let the dog carry.
That dog makes me smile. When I stop seeing him on his morning walks, I hope his owner knows that he won't be the only one to have lost his friend.
There's a man who walks his dog the same route every day. And I see him every day. I have no idea what the man looks like, except that he is likely somewhere in his 40's or 50's. I think he's tall. But he has the best dog.
It is a golden retriever. And he's beautiful. I call it a he, but I don't really know if it is a he or a she. He's a big dog, one of the really tall retrievers. His head doesn't look very broad, but I see him from the distance of three car lanes, so it is hard to be sure. He's getting white around the muzzle and I know he's had a long, good, healthy life. His fur is long and lovely and he wags his tail constantly, letting the world know he's just enjoying his time here, on this walk.
His owner never uses a leash. This made me nervous, when I used to first see them, when I began using this route to work. Now, it just makes me smile. The dog is never more than a leash length away. I think the owner has the dog fooled into thinking there's a leash on him, that he can't get any further than that. The dog never makes a sudden move, never chases squirrels, never darts around. He's constant, steady and calm.
Today, I was running a little late. When I saw them, they were at the crosswalk, waiting for the light. The owner was back where the sidewalks actually crossed, a few steps behind the curb. The dog? Was standing on the curb, waiting expectantly. Either for the light to change or for his owner to tell him it was time to go. In his mouth? A plastic bag, undoubtedly filled with doggy poo that his master cleaned up and, in order to give the retriever something to do that felt like a job, let the dog carry.
That dog makes me smile. When I stop seeing him on his morning walks, I hope his owner knows that he won't be the only one to have lost his friend.
posted by Miss Head at
5:06 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home