For the love of a dog

I went out this morning to get my coffee taking Rigby on a  walk. We arrived at the cafe and as I was tying him up the elderly man at the next table piped up. “How old’s your dog?” he asked.

I answered and he nodded his head thoughtfully. “We had a little dog just died 15 1/2 years old,” he said. “We used to walk him along here all the time.”

We discussed how dogs are such an integral part of the family. I was keen to get inside to order my coffee, but didn’t want to leave this man. You could see his sorrow at losing his little mate. At the same time I felt some of that myself. How awful I thought, how sad.

“He’s got a beautiful coat,” he said. “Lovely colour brown.”

“Yes,” I agreed, and soon after went inside to order my morning latte.

Later when I got back I was checking my Twitter feed. A tweet appeared about a homeless, sick dog being taken in and treated. I watched the video with tears in my eyes. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Rigby,” I muttered.

Dogs, I love, because all they do is give.

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