This is what I look like when I refuse to walk. See the hesitation in my stance, the trepidation in my narrowed eyes? Joan says, “Don’t be afraid; nothing’s going to hurt you.” How does she know?
Why, just yesterday she gave me the same assurance, and then she heard what I had been hearing all along—a motorcycle coming closer, closer, closer, like some monster killer bee from another hemisphere. She forgets that humans don’t hear what dogs hear, smell what dogs smell—Joan’s happy about that one—or fear what we fear.
So, today, we were walking down the block when a little girl called out to me. She was about three years old, standing in her yard with her mom and baby brother. The mom kept saying how beautiful Shane and I were. I kissed the girl through the fence, and she laughed. Then she said, “This dog thinks I’m great!” Joan said, “She sure does.” Then we said goodbye and went on our way.
A minute later, I heard a shaking noise, like someone banging on the ground. It might have been a truck; it might have been King Kong. So I panicked and had to stop. That’s when Joan took this picture of me. Then we turned around and went home. And I was content to give in to my fear, because sometimes, well, it just makes sense to go home and sit on the grass.
And that’s my story.
Best wishes, Juno
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