Small Talk - Nov 4 2021

 

Small Talk

Nov 4 2021

The dogs make small talk,

straining at leashes

as they perk-up their ears

posture and wag,

work their noses

in wordless chat,

and eagerly bark

in playful banter

or growl softly, just in case.

As their humans also pass the time of day

with “nice weather we're having”

or “did you manage to catch the game?”

That is, if they're not too distracted

by whatever's popped-up on their phone

in the last half minute.

Late afternoon

when the dog-walkers are out in force

and familiarity has graced us

with a neighbourly sense of belonging,

warm bags of poop

swinging from our hands,

treats in bulging pockets.

By now, we recognize faces

but know the names of the dogs,

cute monikers

like Rebel, Tinker, Max, and Augie.

Old couples

walking slowly

leading their deaf and blind companions.

The gaudily dressed lady

with theatrical makeup

and blue-rinse hair

clutching a purse-dog to her chest,

the creature looking entitled

the lady sweetly gregarious,

giddily talking

to all who pass.

Entire families

with hyper children and yappy dogs.

And a fashionable young woman

pulled by an exotic breed

as beautifully coiffed as she is.

Do people begin to look like their pets?

Some yes

but most probably not.

The diversity of dogs,

who come short, tall, purebred

mongrel, mutt, and oddball.

Not to mention fancy dogs,

the pampered prima donnas

groomed for show.

While their humans are no less unique

but far more complex.

So we keep our chat breezy

reflexive

inconsequential.

If only we would dare

sniff each other's private parts.

Dispense with our phones

and live in the moment.

Display our emotions

as unfiltered as our canine friends,

who are never self-conscious

or subject to shame.

Instead, we smile politely

and drag them apart,

leashes taut

collars throttling.

Hurrying on

to get the chore over

and get back home.

To all the big important things

that just can't wait.

I'm always frustrated by my fellow dog walkers who are in such a hurry or so self-involved that they don't stop to let their dogs sniff properly, pull them apart when they want to socialize, and spend the whole time with their eyes glued to the phone. I guess this is, at heart, another poem about how much we can learn from our dogs. They don't talk and are relatively simple creatures, but in their own language are more open and exchange more intimacy than we ever do, despite our having words.

I've become used to living in the country and walking my dogs alone. But for the past month we've been in the city, and the number of people out walking their dogs in the late afternoon is remarkable. You get to know the regulars, and I'm enjoying the feeling of comfortable neighbourliness, belonging, and acceptance I get from this: for someone who never quite feels he fits in, this may be as good as it gets!