J.E.Goldie Writes

The Man Across The Street

I do my lawn and so does he. Not because I do mine, but only because he cares like I do. He planted Petunias, so did I. I wonder. Does he plant tomatoes in the back?

He got a puppy. Not that I didn't expect that he'd be one to have a puppy, though he never looked the puppy type. Running around his front yard, teaching the puppy that here's where you live, and we love you.

The puppy is happy, I can tell. I think the man takes pleasure in giving the puppy love. He's like me with my cats. He does things that only his puppy can understand...meaning I love you and I'll take care of you. Anyways, so he runs with his puppy and takes care of his Petunias very well. It’s nice. He cares like I do. It makes you smile. You know what I mean?

We've never really talked, just waved and smiled. But we know its ok and there's a bond of caring. I don't even know his name. Well, that makes sense I guess, because we've never talked. He probably doesn't know mine either.

If his puppy gets into trouble, you know, runs away or crosses the street or something when he's not looking, I'll be there to save the puppy. I wish I knew his name. The puppy I mean. I think I like him, the puppy. I wouldn't like to see him get lost or hurt, I mean the puppy. I'd be sorry about that. I mean the man, well, he just waves and smiles. But puppies are different.

Everybody loves a puppy.