Now, apologizing might sound like a really gracious thing, except deep down I'm not an especially gracious person. Wish I were, but nope. And while I might have liked to apologize in theory, the reality is that I never thought I'd see this woman again and damn, here she was, walking up the hill right towards me.
Gulp. Countdown to graciousness.
I did it. Stopped her and apologized. Explained that I had just learned that my other dog, the little white greyhound I was walking that morning, had a terminal illness and I was raw, upset and emotional. She asked how my dog was doing and I teared up when I told her that Lucy had died just days later. Her sympathy appeared sincere and profound.
Then she apologized too, explaining the reason behind her rude behavior. Just a couple years ago she and her dog were attacked by a stray. It was a vicious, bloody attack, she said, landing her in the hospital and her dog in emergency, both with multiple bites and required stitches. Now, when she hears a dog barking, she panics and freaks out.
Can't say I blame her. As I'd known for myself and suspected with her, driving forces had been behind our behavior during that first encounter. Sort of a Perfect Storm, if you will.
Her name is Ruth and I told her mine. We chatted a bit more, apologized again and then parted ways with a friendly, "See you 'round."
And I meant it. I think she did, too.
Gulp. Countdown to graciousness.
I did it. Stopped her and apologized. Explained that I had just learned that my other dog, the little white greyhound I was walking that morning, had a terminal illness and I was raw, upset and emotional. She asked how my dog was doing and I teared up when I told her that Lucy had died just days later. Her sympathy appeared sincere and profound.
Then she apologized too, explaining the reason behind her rude behavior. Just a couple years ago she and her dog were attacked by a stray. It was a vicious, bloody attack, she said, landing her in the hospital and her dog in emergency, both with multiple bites and required stitches. Now, when she hears a dog barking, she panics and freaks out.
Can't say I blame her. As I'd known for myself and suspected with her, driving forces had been behind our behavior during that first encounter. Sort of a Perfect Storm, if you will.
Her name is Ruth and I told her mine. We chatted a bit more, apologized again and then parted ways with a friendly, "See you 'round."
And I meant it. I think she did, too.
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