I am walking up Bourke Street this afternoon with Bruno and Otto having left Sam at the hairdresser. The wait at the salon was uncharacteristically long. Sam said it was because it was all women in front of him having woman's hair done. Sam usually has his haircut while I wait outside with the woofs, then we swap when I have my hair cut.
Bruno, Otto and I are crossing Exhibition Street and I can see a couple on the other side of Exhibition Street looking at us intently. As we get to the other side the lady asks if she can pat my bulldogs.
“Sure,” I say.
The lady crouches down and pats Bruno and then pats Otto, as she does she holds their faces and gently tells them they are beautiful. She stands back up and thanks me wiping tears way from her eyes. She turns away. Her husband says that she lost her bulldog two months ago and that I had made her very happy. I just smiled. It was kind of nice.
Therapy dogs, I wonder.
It was a moment on the corner of Bourke and Exhibition, just us three. (well, five) I smiled at the husband, he smiled back, then he turned and took his wife's arm. I turned and took my Bruno and Otto's leads in my hand, glancing down at them as they turned and followed me up the hill.
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