Unhappy Dog

Bud stood there, with his head down and his tail between his legs, looking like the dictionary entry for “unhappy dog”. He loved going for a walk in the morning, but he hated waiting outside Starbucks. So there he was, legs braced, radiating misery.

Bob stood in line for two or three minutes to get his coffee. It felt like five or ten. To Bud, it felt like all day.

Bob loved the new leash. It had turned a miserable chore into a pleasant walk. Every time Bud barked, or ran after a squirrel, or stopped, Bob would give the leash a gentle tug, pulling Bud’s nose to one side and reminding him who was alpha dog.

Bud was delighted that Bob was willing to be alpha dog, leaving him to focus on walking and squirrels and smells and barking. Bud lived in the moment. Walking was fun, and waiting was forgotten the moment Bob reappeared.

Bob had wanted a dog for a long time. He knew something that Bud had almost forgotten. Bud had been much, much unhappier a month ago.

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