Crossing Guard

I’m waiting to cross the street, watching for a few hustling taxis to pass, when I feel a presence on my right. I instinctively move a bit to my left. I am polite, and I know that when I am on one side of a street, people have a tendency to want to stand in front of me. Though I generally overtake them within about three or four paces, there’s something about my paused self that must appear (falsely) like a slow walker.

As a final taxi zooms by and the coast is clear, I notice that the figure on my right is a stray dog. The dog has been waiting with me for a clearing, and when I begin to move, he crosses at my side. I feel delighted that I have led him to a safe retreat. It seems an honor that one of the city’s stray dogs would trust my judgment.

Then I notice a few more dogs crossing. It seems that rather than leading, I am a part of a herd materializing from behind several parked cars. At the next crossing, one blonde dog cuts ahead of me. Another mutt jogs, turning his head to see if I am coming along. I’m laughing aloud at my quick demotion from shepherdess to sheep. I hear more laughter and notice a group of older women observing my encounter and enjoying it immensely. I smile in their direction, happy to be accepted, as my pack runs on without me.

Running the town.