It was a bright and shiny summer day, a mere 100 degrees at just 9:30 in the morning. I’m minding my own business just taking in the moments of a morning dog walking session, when out of nowhere runs a kid across the lawn.
Franklin the dog, of course, goes wild. He’s screaming and barking and yearning to get to the kid. The kid has that gleeful expression of a child who is both fearful and intrigued. A paradox of wanting to play and wanting to run.
I, of course, being the great school teacher that I am, have to engage in conversation with this kid and give him an opportunity to grow in courage and new experiences — that’s what anybody would naturally be thinking about, right?
I ask, “Do you want to meet him? He’s really nice.” Meanwhile, my rabid dog screams out viscous words in his own dog language.
The child jumps up onto an electrical box trying to get out of paw’s reach from my ever so intimidating 16 pound poodle.
“Please, please just get him away from me!” shouts the child in a both amused and excited, yet not fearful voice.
As we walk away, of course Franklin instantly turns into the most adorable dog ever with no trace of the vicious creature to be seen.
“Wait, wait! Can I pet him?? Please!!!”
We turn around and Frankin trots up and puts on his most civil dog face.
This child and I proceed to have a pleasant conversation about Franklin. As we walk away, I realize, “Hey, wait…where are you supposed to be right now?”
“At my Granny’s…but I live right here,” as he points to the door, “I’m just getting something then going back.”