A real, live dog on wheels.
These specimens had long existed in my imagination, but to find one in my neighborhood was almost too much excitement for one person to take. In addition to being... how can I put it nicely?... "infirm," this dog looked mangy, unkempt and completely down-n-out. To his credit, he didn't seem to know it.
He wheeled around Place Monge like he owned the place, which maybe he did. Who am I to know? I'm just an ex-pat interloper. This is clearly his terrain.
This winter, I was retracing my old steps, when whom did I see? None other than my dog on wheels, zipping around (ok, plodding along in little jolts), just like in the good old days!
How refreshing it is to learn that I can leave, move across the world, come back and find that Old Mr. Wheels is still charting the same daily course across the Place.
My excitement soon gave way to calmness, to a settling of my heart rate, to an organic feeling that things are in balance, that there is order in the world. If this ratty little dog strapped to a mobile harness contraption doesn't symbolize something good, I don't know what does. All I know is: everything's going to be ok. I have rolling proof.