They're not happy.
Though, in general, despite not knowing what bag contains most of my underwear, I am. My skin is less happy... I've been all dry and crackly this winter, but a weird thing appeared on my arm a few weeks ago-- just before I went out to AZ-- and it hasn't gone away. I finally broke down and went to the doctor today to have it looked at. He seemed unsure what, exactly, it was, but gave me some cream for it (a prescription that took two hours of waiting to fill). I walked to the office afterwards, passing a man getting into his car on P Street. His young son was with him, but was edging ever closer to a pair of Pekinese dogs tied to a tree, waiting for their owner to emerge from a hardware store.
"Seth... Seth.... Come back here, Seth. Don't touch the doggies. Don't touch the doggies. Seth."
Seth turns around, looks at dad. Gauges... pleasure of petting furry doggies vs. wrath of dad. Dad looked like his wrath probably wan't that bad. He was dressed tweedy and drove a lefty car, a middle-aged African American man with salt and pepper hair. He looked like a professor of literature or history. Not comp lit. Not anthropology. He looked like he needed a pipe. He looked like the sum of his wrath would be a wave of guilt-inducing anxiety. Seth finished assessing. Turns away from dad, edges closer to the doggies.
"SETH. Come back here. Seth. SETH... NO."
Seth turns back, looks at dad, assessing again. Okay, dad's sounding angry, but how angry does dad ever get? And look! Doggies!! Seth moves on to reason, three year old style.
"I was just going to meet the doggies and see the doggies and I can see them closer. I can see the doggies closer. I can see them."
"Seth, we don't touch doggies we don't know."
Actually, Seth, that's a pretty good rule of thumb in general. Mostly, it's a good idea not to touch things that breathe that you don't know-- people, doggies, polar bears, vultures, rabid raccoons.
"But I djust wanted to pet the doggies. Djust pet them a little."
"No, Seth."
"Why not?"
Dad paused, I'm betting contemplating whether or not telling Seth that we don't do that because you never know which doggies will savage you would scar him for life, making him fear all animals forever. He settled on a solution.
"Because those doggies aren't happy, Seth."
Mind you, I get what dad is doing. But the dogs really didn't look particularly unhappy. What they really looked was uninterested. In Seth, in dad, in me, in anything that wasn't their owner coming out of the hardware store ready to unleash them for the rest of their walk and maybe home for some kibble. I wonder how this will get translated in Seth's young mind.
***
I still can't find my notes on New York. Though I also can't find many things that I would like to find. Like more socks. I did, however, find a roll of film I shot there, and so I have a picture from the trip, P watching the big city peoples doing their thing through the coffee shop window.
Comments
So many people settle instead for terrorizing kids.
(Don't go near the dogs, they'll bite.)
My favorite overheard one was a girl at a park solemnly warning another child not to go near the deer because they had rabies.