Saturday, July 16, 2005

They walk up to the bakery together, setting up at the sidewalk table just opposite my window. She retrieves a third metal chair, while he pulls a somewhat pudgey boston terrier out from under his coat where he has been sheltering it from a light sprinkle against his chest. He sets the dog down and she proceeds to carefully shake out a navy blue chennille throw and fold it carefully into fourths. She looks at it and decides this isn't adequate, starts over and refolds it. At first I thought this was a shawl or a poncho, but once she put it down on the first metal chair I presume it is to guard her against any sign of a wet seat. The dog appears not to move, sitting under the table, leashless. He stands protectively over it. She comes inside to peruse the bakery case, returns, apparently tells him her choice, and he comes inside to order for both of them. Next she moves the chennille throw from the original metal chair to the third one she had pulled over earlier. Picks up the black and white terrier, examines it carefully, and places it down on the seat, holding it just so on the blanket for at least a minute. The dog sits still on the blanket, mute, dumbly stairing back at the woman who is intently watching its every move. Now she adjusts his legs. A couple more minutes pass and she picks the dog back up, puts him on her lap, spends another few minutes adjusting the dog from standing into a sitting posture. I am thinking that this is a scene of a mother with a newborn, the degree of care put into every detail of this dog's care. I am thinking how many children receive no such treatment in their lives. I am thinking this is one lucky dog.

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