Hope

This morning, as Shiva was contemplating the odds of catching a Canada Goose versus the odds of the goose catching her, a truck pulled up beside us. A middle -aged man with an unshaven jaw and a sad expression looked out the driver’s window.

“Have you seen a black and white dog around here?”

I shook my head and suggested he try the forest. But before I could finish my sentence he was shaking his head and pulling away from the curb.

“Already looked there, thanks anyway.”

Watching him turn the blue Dodge around to drive off in the opposite direction I started to feel a little sad myself. All too well, I know what it feels like to have lost a dog. Nikita, my childhood friend, was a true Siberian Husky escape artist. There were many times I drove around with my father, calling her name and wondering if we were ever going to see her again. Thankfully, she was always returned to us, often in very unusual ways.

I looked down at Shiva. She was looking back at me with a wagging tale, waiting for her reward for being quiet while I spoke with the man. Sometimes her paranoia of beingabandoned comes in handy. I tossed her a few extra pieces of kibble and decided to take the long way home.