I went on the walk with my friend this morning. I had written myself a note to remind myself. When we walk now, her dear aged lab cannot come, because the dog is too old and frail, and it's a little sad. My dogs miss her and acted a bit confused. We met a lot of dog walkers and they all asked if my dogs were friendly. It's hard to explain that they are SO friendly they lick the other dogs ears and wallow all over them. It's overwhelming, and there can be too much friendliness. My dogs never met anyone they didn't like, and they don't take hints. Snarling and baring teeth means nothing to them. Barking excites them. In other words, they are clueless. They believe the whole world adores them, and when a human walks by without acknowledging them, they look back over their shoulders like, "what was that about?"
I wish I had their confidence. Though I'm more or less in the friendly puppy category. I like striking up conversations with strangers, and have had deep philosophical discussions in waiting rooms and on airplanes. I like finding the humanity in a person I've never met, and feeling some connection. I talk to taxi drivers and people trying to get me to donate over the phone. I talk to Jehovah's Witnesses at the door. I don't give anything, except five minutes of me. Then I wish them luck. I am polite. One instant of kindness might make a difference in the day of a person forced to go door to door.
But I have boundaries. I can not coerced into supporting anything except raffle tickets small children sell. I'm a sucker for kids. But every interaction, either deliberate or accidental, should be respected. Maybe we should be judged by these little connections, instead of our historical, elaborate ones. Well, we shouldn't be judged or judge at all, but sometimes more is to be learned in the friendliness of dogs and their people than in the halls of Congress.
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