I saw a snazzily dressed preacher walking into the assisted living facility near the San Gabriel Valley Humane Society this morning. I felt a momentary flash of guilt, as if he might question me like some Catholic priest from my childhood. "Why aren't you in church?" he called out to me in my imagination as he strode toward me with his bible.
"I am in church," I said, continuing the imaginary conversation. "The Church of Dogs." The dome of blue sky for the ceiling. The whisper of the breeze for prayer. Little saints all around me doling out unconditional love. Like this guy. My new favorite.
His name is Eyota. And he's a rat terrier. A useful beast in Southern California where rats like to raid the fruit trees. Holy avenger against rodent satans!
It's been a few weeks since I've been able to walk dogs. Some of my favorites have been adopted in the interim. I was surprised to see that Oprah is still at the shelter. "Oprah," I said, "What are you still doing here?!"
I'd say she looks a bit baffled herself. Really, this dog is so charming, she should have her own TV show.
Wouldn't Eyota and Oprah make a cute pair?