I don’t know his name, but he’s awfully cute.
On our way to work, Ben and I pass a tiny fenced yard. Every month or two, there’s a very large German shepherd hanging out, deafeningly defending his territory. We greet him when we pass, saying, “Hello, puppy.” in the tones reserved for the cutest dogs, and offering him our hands through the chain link fence. He always sniffs and settles down.
On Thursday, instead of settling down, he pawed at the chain link. Then he reared up and came down on both forelegs, rubbing his nose on the snow. Puppy wanted to play.
We were tempted. We really were. But even if we hadn’t needed to go to work, something tells me the owners–the people who keep an oversized shepherd in their tiny yard on the edge of downtown–wouldn’t be thrilled if we showed up on their doorstep saying, “Your guard dog just invited us to play. Do you mind if we hang out in your yard for a little bit?”
So we just won’t tell them. But I still have a new friend.