Still, he always had a nice word to say when I’d pass him on my daily rounds, checking out the neighborhood trash cans.

Once I saw his owner—again, that word!—step onto the back porch. Droolius was barking, but he had a good reason. A stranger had just passed by. Barking is what we’re supposed to do in that circumstance, right?

Maybe he’s the UPS guy, maybe he’s a serial killer. I mean, c’mon, we’re not the FBI.

So anyways. Owner came out, big guy, mean-looking, gave Droolius a hard kick with his boot, yelled, “Shut up, you fool,” disappeared.

Droolius looked at me, kinda embarrassed. We kept talking. A few minutes later, the owner came out again. Put some towels on a line.

Droolius headed over, tail between his legs, cowering, saying, I’m sorry I love you I am yours yours yours with his whole dog being.

Guy completely ignored him, headed back inside.

“He’s having a tough time,” said Droolius when the guy was gone.

“He’s a jerk,” I said, because subtlety is not my strong point.

“No. He loves me. He does.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“Humans,” said Droolius, licking a sore on his leg. “You know how they can be.”

“Do I ever.”

“But we gotta stay true. Love ’em. Forgive ’em.”

I thought about that. Thought about it a lot.

“Why, though?” I finally asked. “Why do we have to forgive them?”

Droolius looked shocked, then confused. As if I’d just asked why cheese tastes good. It just does.

“That’s the way it is,” he said. “That’s what we do, Bob.”

I started to reply, but I managed to hold my tongue, which is not easy for me. It’s a very long tongue with a mind of its own.

There was no point in making Droolius feel worse than he already did.

Later that morning, I found half a turkey sandwich. Gave the whole thing to him.

Well, okay, I had a taste first. But still.

forgiveness

Seems like forgiving humans is one of those doggie things we’re all supposed to do. Like having zoomies or doing bed boogies.

It’s written into our canine souls.

Well, somehow I didn’t get the memo, the one that apparently went out to every other dog on the planet, about forgiveness.

Why should I forgive the humans who tossed me and my siblings out into the night? When you forgive, you lose your anger, and when you lose your anger, you get weak.

And when you’re weak, you can get hurt all over again.

the art of human watching

By the time we reach the park, the sky is definitely in a bad mood. Gray clouds galloping like panicked horses. The nervous scent of rain on the way, the kind that makes you antsy in your own skin.