A Golden Retriever is holding a tennis ball in her mouth as she sits in the back of a car. At a red light she sticks her head out and the passengers in neighboring cars all laugh and point. The light turns green. The dog drops the ball. The car proceeds down the street. Five blocks later at another red light the dog is still hanging her head out of the window, looking down at where she dropped the ball. I find this so poignant. The ball is way gone yet she is staring at the ground where it should still be sitting. Certain it will reappear at any moment. But it won't. She can't reason that it's way back there. The poignancy? Dogs never look back? They live in the moment? The have no expectations? All of the above? Thing is, there's another tennis ball down the street, around the corner or under the couch at home. And when she finds it, all will be well with her. It's that simple. Not that all tennis balls are alike, just that there are many and, like pennies on the sidewalk, there will always be another one. Not the same one, but another one.
