This morning I watched a woman having a fight with her dog, a cocoa brown Cocker Spaniel who looked fresh from the Westminster Dog Show, but acted as if he was just paroled.
The woman was beautifully dressed in a long Ralph Laureny skirt and boots, a plush deep green corduroy jacket fitted as if she were about to go riding in a Jane Austen novel.
She wanted the dog to sit, who wouldn’t, howling his shaggy head off. I wanted to say, why is it so important since you’re only waiting for the light to change, but then remembered when walking Carmela the Basset Hound, she more or less walked me.
They were arguing, one-sidedly, but in the pooch’s way, he was standing up in his unwillingness to sit down.
I stood across the street, the little sweaty, running voyeur I am, giggling at the absurdity.
Suddenly she looked up as if she felt a presence.
I tried looking away, but alas, was caught.
She hollered, “He just won’t listen to me. He’s such a stubborn, bad dog.”
Pollyanna, Spot’s on-the spot-lawyer yells back, “He’s a good dog, who’s anxious to get to the park. If someone asked me to sit on my way, I wouldn’t either.”
After a good long stare I’m sure, thinking I was nuts, she proceeded across Fifth, but the best part was when, halfway across, her doggie decided all on his own, to take 5.