It’s just the most amazing thing to love a dog, isn’t it? It makes our relationships with people seem as boring as a bowl of oatmeal.
John Grogan, Marley and Me: Life and Love With the World’s Worst Dog
I’m taking Maya for a walk before bed. We’re walking up and down unfamiliar streets, then over, and up another one. Suddenly, she stops short. That, in and of itself, is not unusual—she’s can have a mind of her own—what follows is though.
A man is crossing the street in front of us. The moment she catches a glimpse of him, she puts her head down, plants her feet firmly, and watches.
I encourage her to keep moving but she is having none of it. Finally, with no other choice, I give up and we do an about-face walking back in the direction from which we came. Maya walks easily and quickly now; but as we go she keeps turning her head to look back. It is as if she is spooked by someone or something back there.
The man we first saw, who I thought precipitated the whole episode, is long gone. Maybe it was him, or maybe it wasn’t, but something got her, and now my, attention.
I am hyper-aware as we walk to a grassy space, I wait for her to tend to her evening business, and we make quick tracks back to safety.
What a delightful little face, with one ear up and one down. There’s an idea for a story in Maya’s refusal to continue walking, methinks.