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.