Excerpt: I did a double take and checked: yes, a pig.
I was returning home from my daily walk and passing a building down the block from me, a long, tall slightly Gothic creation whose facade I’ve often admired. The entrance door opened and out came a person I was vaguely familiar with, having seen him around the neighbourhood. By his side this time was what looked like a miniature English Sheepdog, perhaps a Sheepadoodle, a cross between an English Sheepdog and a Poodle. I have a fondness for English Sheepdogs because nearly every favourite childhood film of mine, including Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, featured one: a large, lumbering, and deeply affectionate and loyal dog bounding behind the children or adults embarking upon some adventure. As a child, I wanted one desperately. As an adult, I’m not inclined to have one because I can tell it takes an enormous amount of maintenance (and I have, in the interim, turned into a cat person, while remaining devoted to the memory of Tipsy, the dog who raised me). But I look fondly upon them as they walk around with other adults because, how could one not?
This one was unique in that it carried in its mouth a medium-sized plush toy pig. I did a double take and checked: yes, a pig. A few steps out of the door, it dropped the pig and walked on. Behind it, the human, speaking with great concern, picked up the toy and asked, “Wait, don’t you want Piglet with you?” The dog ignored him and the human walked behind speaking gently, “Well, okay, then, let’s keep walking this way,” all the while making sure Piglet was safe in his hand. I laughed out loud because, how could I not? I loved the fact that a dog, sometimes classified as an emotional support animal as many dogs are, had its own emotional support toy animal, and that its human was devoted enough to make sure Piglet stayed with them on their walk.
As the world goes to hell, there are many reasons for me to retreat into the general distrust of humans I’ve had since my childhood, when dogs in movies seemed like the only creatures I could trust. My everyday walks keep me sane and at least moderately fit in a time when it’s hard to get out much, but I’m often irked by humans who seem to not understand that there’s a pandemic going on, a deadly one, and who are too often unmasked. Or who are dementedly clueless about the state of a country where the two candidates for the most dangerous office on the planet are both men in their seventies bent on using the presidency as some kind of retirement plan to get rich and enjoy power for its own sake.
But there are moments when I think of the good parts of humans, and what keeps my faith in these very annoying creatures is that somewhere out there is a man who tenderly and solicitously makes sure that his dog’s toy Piglet is safe on their walks.
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Note that details of this brief encounter are gathered from memory, and may not be entirely accurate (the pig might have been named “Piggy,” not “Piglet,” for instance).