When I was a little girl, and we would make our yearly New York City trip from the country, my eyes used to roll out of my head toward every dog I saw.
It was hard enough to accept that people actually lived in the expansive skyscraper jungle of Manhattan. Seeing people with dogs blew my mind. I grew up on acreage where neighborhood dogs roamed free. I couldn’t imagine a dog being in an apartment, particularly an apartment someplace like Fifth Avenue.
I was thinking this as I strolled up Eighth Avenue with the puppies this morning. The road I took to get back here got so bumpy at the end; I lost sight in some ways of what exactly I was swinging.
To widen my smile further, I wound up passing a woman around the age of my mother – standing in
front of one of the hotels smoking her 6am cigarette. She beamed at the sight of Frankie and Peanut and greeted me with, “Look how good they are! They are CUTE!” And then she buried them in pats.
The lady reminded me of me as a kid. She made me realize that I grew into one of “those people” who once seemed like mythical creatures to me – people who not only live in midtown, they live there with dogs.
Frankie has brought a unique joy to my life. Taking care of him and watching his health improve in my care has grounded me in ways I never knew were coming. I’ve been grounded like this before, but I let it go for a minute.
Frankie reminds me of history to hold, and what to let go of. Here’s to staying and keeping light.