There’s a woman in our neighbourhood who has a golden retriever.
The poor dog is quite obviously nearing the end of its life. Most mornings on my way to work I pass the woman walking her dog – well, walking might be too strong a word. Plodding might be more appropriate. Shuffling, even. The retriever shuffles along at a snail’s pace, each step a contemplated event, and yet the woman does not rush the dog. She does not walk ahead of the dog and tug furiously at the leash. She does not stand, arms cross, glaring at the dog. She walks just as slowly, often reaching down to pat the dog on its head or to give it a wee cuddle.
It warms my heart to see them shuffling by my car most mornings. There are many people who do not have that kind of patience or, even if they do have it, choose not to show that patience with their pets. This woman LOVES her dog. You can tell – from 50 feet away you can tell. It’s just nice.
It will be a very sad day when I no longer see them shuffling.