Still, Life.
Tonin, August 25 2016

He was smiling at me, a big sloppy grin that only a canine could manage. He smiled at me every time I saw him. Sometimes that seemed kinda creepy, but mostly it made me feel a little happier myself. It's hard not to smile back at a happy dog.

He was a Shepherd, I think, and he was always sitting there on his bench, knapsack beside him and something that may or may not have been legal smoldering in one paw. He was there every day, rain or shine, and the cops never seemed to bother him. He probably smiled at them, too. There was some deep contentment in that dog more powerful than bad weather or politics.

Once I asked him why he was so happy, but he didn't really answer, just kept on smiling, teeth white as clouds and sharp as steak knives. It doesn't matter, I suppose. Happy isn't contagious, so learning why he was always grinning wouldn't make me any more or less happy to see him. Still, I'd like to have known.

A few days later he wasn't in his usual spot. There was some rabbit there, hugging a fox on the edge of a fountain. It didn't seem important at the time, but I never saw the Shepherd again. Sometimes I think about him, late at night when the world needs a smile. He's probably still smiling, wherever he is, but I don't know where to look for him.

I never should have changed my phone's wallpaper.
_