By Rosanne Pagano
It’s possible, so I’ve been told, to waste time on other people’s dogs, but judging by the response, I’m fine. They’re the ones who start it with that pull on the leash, that whip of the head, eyes seeking mine. The dogs, I mean.
“Stop me,” I say to whomever I’m with (or if alone, to my own feet). “It’s embarrassing to love other people’s dogs.”
But restraint fails, doesn’t it?
And there I go again. Mittens off, I’m scratching ears, rubbing bellies. Returning smiles.
“That’s a good dog,” I say, and always I am right.
