I was tooling through the kid’s section at Barnes & Noble, when I came upon a chubby Chihuahua sitting beneath the Babar books. I see he’s leashed to a stroller where, when I peek in, there’s a happy baby gurgling away. Behind it, I see a woman in her 70s sprawled on the floor, a copy of Pete the Cat’s, I Love My White Shoes, a favorite of mine, balanced on her ample bosom.
Next to her is a 3 year-old in a red striped French sailor shirt (my kinda guy) hanging on to every word.
The Chihuahua, like he’s the host, puts two paws up on my leg as if to say, sit down, join us why don’t you? The baby starts giggling, the dog gets comfy, while the woman never stops reading, even when I do sit down to hear the rest of what Pete has to say.
“What a story,” I say to her.
“Yah, a favorite of Mike’s,” she says, chucking the little guy under the chin.
“I think it’s so great you read to them.”
“Of course, what else should one’s nanny do…they will be great men one day.”