Interesting things happen down the block. I think the people fix cars, so there’s always something to listen to—some little squeak, a grinding of some sort of metal thing, a spinning of rubber, a horn, a bad word or two. And there’s always something to watch. The humans bend over the motor and twist things and take things out and stick them back again and slam things and yell, “Not now! I’m busy!” Humans get so mad at machines. Dogs never care about machines. We don’t need them, so we don’t get mad at them.
Sometimes the ice-cream truck comes down the block playing the same tune over and over and over. And when it does, all the big and little people at that end of the street run out of their houses and line up like little kids on the cafeteria line at school. And they unwrap their treats like it's Christmas, like they’re desperate for a big sugary surprise to sweeten up their lives. I sit and watch them lick and smile and chomp and grin until the big rectangle of ice and sugar turns into a skinny stick—nothing left but the stick, the wrapper, and the memory. They usually throw all three of them in the garbage or the street. That's great for the ice-cream seller, because the next time he goes around the block, the people run out and do the same thing over again.
Actually, I wouldn’t mind having one of those treats, but Joan doesn’t line up with the people.
And, there are dogs who live on the other side of those ice-cream-eating people down the block. They come around the corner and stare. It drives Shane crazy, but I just sit and stare back. Okay, sometimes, I whine a little, but that’s just to let them know I’m a softie.
Before the people moved in, I never paid much attention to that end of the block. Now, I sit and watch.
Best wishes, Juno
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