Sunday, April 26, 2015


The small, screw-haired dog runs up, absent any sign of a leash or owner, and stops, one front paw raised daintily and a stricken look on her face, as Coco and I pass by.

But there, a few yards back, comes her owner, apparently. He walks straight up to me with his hand stretched out to shake, saying, "Happy spring to you."

"And to you, sir," I reply heartily, and shake his hand for lack of a better response.

No comments:

Post a Comment