I was blessed with an unusually long red light on my way to Meijer this morning. An opportunity to observe a fascinating scene involving the dog riding in the back seat of a black, Nissan Maxima I’d been following westbound on Main Street. Who doesn’t love dog ears flapping in the breeze, a pup head jutted from a car window?
The Maxima and I slowed as the light at Main and 135 turned red. My untrained eye would identify this dog as a terrier of some sort. He was reddish brown, one eye outlined by a patch of white. His ears stuck up then flopped down; I would guess him to be very strong. He was tall enough that I never lost sight of his head as he paced from one side of the back seat to the other, sticking his head out each window, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing. I watched, marveling at how this guy was taking it all in. Experiencing. I was thinking I wanted to live more like him. Alert. Smelling it all. sticking my head out of windows. Tasting the wind. What a life, I thought.
Unfortunately, Strong Dog’s human partially raised the window when he plunged from the left rear window, ferociously hollering, trying his darndest to get at whomever was in the back seat of the car that pulled up beside us, its rear window also half lowered. Strong Dog did not give up. He appeared to stand on his tip toes and continue with his reckless sniffing, head turned slightly sideways to allow room for his snout. The light turned green and I was jarred into remembering where I was and what I was doing.
My new friend taught me something in those moments. May I always remember to allow my ears to flap in the breeze, suck it all in, speak my voice, never give up, and bark like hell when anyone tries to roll up my window.