Sunday, July 23, 2017

The Force of Habit

The guy hiding under the awning of the bagel shop next door is the only person I can see for blocks, since the pouring rain has chased everyone else inside. I give him a nod as I put the dog down and hook the leash on her collar, but he doesn't respond.

The dog takes off at her lopsided run, and even though there are perfectly good trees within ten feet, fifteen feet, even twenty-five feet of the building, she still has to go to her one tree, the one she likes to pee beneath.

"Couldn't change your plans just this once," I say, as the rain soaks the streets, the ground, her fur, my skin, and she squats in the exact same spot she's always done with a look of determination on her doggy face.
One year ago: The Lives of Our Younger Mothers
Two years ago: Not Playing
Four years ago: Kachori from Baluchis

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