Wait, you’re leaving without touching me! ©voyager, all rights reserved
Jack is fed up with Covid, and he doesn’t even have to wear a mask. Of course, I don’t wear a mask on trail walks either, but I’m just fine with the social distancing. That’s the part that Jack doesn’t like. He’s so used to people stopping to pet him that his feelings get hurt when they don’t. Today, we encountered an older couple out for a walk, and they stepped off the trail to go around us. We exchanged pleasantries but stayed in our personal bubbles a few metres apart. Jack was making happy noises and giving adorable face, but they weren’t interested in getting any closer to him, and when they walked away, I could see poor Jack trying to work out what went wrong. I explained about germs and transmission of disease, but Jack said he heard on the news that dogs don’t get or carry Covid 19. I told him that it might be too early to know that for sure, especially since I heard that cats can contract it. He mumbled some reply about cats being inferior to dogs and walked away. Poor Bubba is suffering from a lack of human contact, and there isn’t much I can do to make it better. He gets lots of love and attention at home, but what he wants is the adoration of the public sphere. He wants people to Oooh and Aaah and to rub his face while he curls around them. He’s 12, now, and I hope he gets it back in his lifetime.
Ah, the poor boi.
Distant adorations don’t work on dog but I am sending them anyway.
Poor Jack. When I was a child we had a dog that was black lab/husky or something. He looked like a black lab, but his tail curled up over his back. Every morning when the children were on their way to school they would walk past the yard and the dog would follow them along the fence, wagging his tail and prancing, but the children would keep going while the dog was stuck in the yard. He would watch them disappear in disbelief that they didn’t want to play, and his tail would sadly uncurl and droop straight down. Until the next group of children walked by; the tail would snap back up into a neat curl and he’d once again follow them along the fence very hopefully.
fifty years ago
On my back street, I always stopped to talk to the Irish Setter.
He was a sweet doggy but dumb as a sack of rocks.
Poor Jack.
Being able to pet the neighbour’s dog (he’s named Paul and very sweet) was one of the few pleasures I had when we were in the “don’t leave the house unless you absolutely must” phase.