On my walk to the bus stop yesterday morning I followed my normal route, cutting through a closed-street residential area. On this closed street, it isn't uncommon for people's dogs to be taking themselves for sunny little strolls. Petting one of these dogs would be like petting one of their owners while they were happily mopping their sidewalk (another favorite pastime); you just don't do it. I was surprised, then when a perky little Jack Russell Terrier came trotting right up to me. He was very friendly, but worried at first I might hit him and backed away timidly when I offered my hand. Once he realized he was safe, he more or less started head-butting my hand, trying to get to to scratch that magic place just behind his ears. He walked with me for the next couple of blocks, pausing every so many yards to see if I'd scratch his head again (I did). We continued like this al the way up to my bus stop, where he waited with me for a little while and then wandered off in search of other ear-scratchers. He had no tags or collar, but he looked too well fed to be homeless. Also, I can only imagine calling in to work to say that I won't make it that day because I've stolen a dog and want to make sure he doesn't eat my landlady's couch. (It's quite possibly the least comfortable couch in the world, but I still don't think she's appreciate it.) All the same, when I told Keating about it later, it was with the suggestion that we take a pork chop and wander the neighborhood. Keating sounded like he would have been all over it, except that we didn't have any chops in the house. He's been going into fuzzy-withdrawal even worse than I have, in part because I get to occasionally play with the department dachshund.
It made me really want to give my Asher a hug. He's living in Michigan, alternately tormenting and entertaining my parents. I miss my dog. (Don't worry, y'all. I kind of miss the rest of you, too! *grin*)
2 comments:
I think the US and the UK are a couple of the only countries in the world that own house dogs. The dog that has the freedom to roam and comes home for its supper and a pet seems to be the more popular variety anywhere else I've been. This makes for happy encounters and friends to be made on the street. But also moments of absolute terror when meeting a not so friendly mutt.
Becky
Becky,
The funny thing is that the people down here can't seem to make up their minds about their dogs. There are a few roaming dogs from the Old School, but the vast majority seem to be stuffed into some ungodly doggy velour jumpsuit. I have actually seen handfuls of dogs down here wearing hideous onesies, complete with back-leg sleeves. Fortunately, the nasty dogs all appear to be locked behind security fences (though still one spooks me occasionally).
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