The Shape of Days

Oh, that’s it. I have to get a camera. And, like, carry it with me at all times.

This morning — just seconds ago, in fact — I saw a woman walking a microscopic chihuahua in a purple crocheted sweater. I was walking out of my building and they were walking past; our trajectories were perpendicular and intersected about ten feet from the curb. The dog, who was walking behind his owner without a care in the world, turned and looked me right in the eye. He froze. I froze. I smiled at him. Not on purpose, but just because it’s impossible not to smile at an eight-inch-high chihuahua in a purple crocheted sweater. A baggy crocheted sweater. Like a hand-me-down. He had the sleeves rolled up, man. He was so cute.

So there we were, staring at each other. A moment passed. His owner heard the sudden cessation of the ticky-ticky of four tiny, beclawed feet behind her and turned to look. She called his name. He ignored her. He stared at me. His tail gave the tiniest hint of a wag.

Then he sprang into motion.

He skittered toward me in that peculiar way little dogs have, like they’re trying to propel themselves along on ice. He came at me, tail wagging hard enough to generate a breeze, barking like crazy, caught in that eternally conflicted puppy-world between defend-the-family and look-a-new-friend.

God, I so related to him.

He got about halfway to me before the repeated calls of his owner snapped him out of it. He retreated to her shadow, glancing back over his shoulder all the way. They turned the corner and vanished.

His name? Spike, of course.

I have to get a camera, man. And carry it with me all the time.

• What auspicious timing
• Work intrudes (yay!)
• Why yes, as a matter of fact I am offering to buy a burger for the entire House of Representatives today. That’s how much I loathe snotty vegans.