We were hanging out at the duck pond tonight when a guy came up to us with his dog (he was about our age), and he just sat down and started talking to us. Tyler had met him briefly last week during the fair with another dog...he lives in the same apartment complex we do. He mentioned that tonight's dog wasn't his; he was fostering it for the Humane Society.
Then he started talking about his own dog (the one Tyler met). Turns out, he had a habit of letting his dog ride in the back of his truck, and the dog jumped out last week and was killed. He talked about all the places he'd walked his dog, and how he let him sleep on his bed, and how he hiked up into the Olympics to bury him on one of his favorite trails with a plaque he'd made (it had beveled edges and polyurathane coating, and he hoped nobody would mess it up). He talked about how guilty he felt for letting his dog ride in the truckbed, which was why he started volunteering at the Humane Society.
The more he sat there and talked, the more I felt like Tyler and I were supposed to be there that night, just to listen to him and let him talk. I'm glad we were. He was really nice, and we're definitely looking for friends around here, so it was win-win.
But it's good to feel like we were in the right place at the right time.
I want a dog.