Simple

Yesterday morning, like any other morning, I rushed out of the house into the back alley in an attempt to make it to my French class, in time for the dictation (I am a dictation-maniac, I simply love them, but I hate when I miss one or two first sentences due to lateness). My boots creaking on the well-trodden snow, I walked briskly towards the main street when, all of a sudden, a big dog, his legs and ears flailing all about, dashed bouncing towards me from the house on my right. For a second I was petrified and half-turned away from him, my muscles tensed in anticipation of a bite. Funny, how many ideas can pass through your head in such an infinitesimal moment: I thought of the Central Cemetary in Belgrade where I had to pass often on my way to the bus stop and where packs of stray dogs followed me growling lowly; I thought of the woman, about whom we read in the news in the 90s, who was torn to pieces by one such pack one early morning; I thought of that huge German shepherd in Halifax who caught my wrist between his teeth as I was passing by in the opposite direction and my hand happened to be on the level with his jaws (I had a red mark for days afterwards)...

Belying such dark associations, however, the goofy-looking dog yesterday morning simply jumped up, placing his forepaws on my arms, his tongue sticking out in happiness and delirium of a new day beginning and life reawakening in the alley. He was simply saying to the first available living creature, "Hello, isn't it wonderful to be alive once again?" In less than a second, he was darting back towards the house, leaving me bemused and be-smiled. How simple a taste for life is. How uncomplicated the friendliness.