The park is nearly empty, which is how I like it. I make for an open stretch of squelchy grass and let the dog off the lead. It runs in large circles, nose to the ground.
I've had dogs long enough to know that a little patience is called for. But I'm not feeling it.
When we moved to a house near a level crossing I imagined adapting to the way it dictates the pace of life—learning to stand still, at home in the empty moment, until the train passes.
This woman just went down, BAM! And nobody does anything. It's maddening.
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