"Is that a pure bred shiba-inu?" the woman asks as I stand on the top step, leash dangling from my hand, and the doge stands dripping in the deluge deciding whether or not she wants to go inside.
"Yep," I say, giving the leash a desultory tug. The dog ignores me and twists her head upwards, as if she's trying to figure out who's pouring water on her.
"I just thought they were taller," the woman says, and the dog looks wistfully at the dry vestibule of our apartment, but doesn't come inside.
One year ago today: Pocket Picked
Two years ago today: Bird Poem
Three years ago today: A Crowded Subway is No Excuse
Nine years ago today: 1-23-08 L'esprit de l'escalier and the power of music.
Post a Comment