Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Last week my Eskimo Dog injured himself while we were out walking. I picked him up in my arms to quickly cross 49th Street and when I put him down on the sidewalk he began howling in pain. I couldn't imagine what had happened. I checked his pads to see if he had cut or pinched himself but he seemed fine. He was clearly in excruciating pain and his 2 minutes of howling drew a crowd. A few people at the bus stop came over to see if they could help. We all looked around the sidewalk to see if he had stepped on something but couldn't find anything. (One lady said to me, "isn't it funny how if an animal is in trouble people come running. Do you think they'd do the same for us?") I suspected that he had strained himself because his hips seem a little stiff these days when he gets up after lying down for a long time. I decided I would see if he could walk it off. He wouldn't put any weight on his back right leg and I had to carry him up the stairs to the 4th floor to our apartment.

That night, I decided I would let him walk it off and took him for his 11pm walk as always. BuddE was getting along ok with a pronounced limp. It was garbage night on my street and there was practically no room to walk on the sidewalk.

A guy in a Fed Ex shirt said "excuse me" and I tried to get out of his way.
He said, "No, I'm not trying to get by. I just wanted to know, is this the dog from the bus stop earlier?"
I nodded yes, sort of surprised by his recognition.
"How's he doing?"
"He seems to be doing a little better," I said.
"Glad to hear it, glad to hear it," he said and he slid by us up the alley of garbage and went on his way.

Sometimes Hell's Kitchen feels like a small town. That's nice.