“Jilly! No! Don’t let him do that.” Mom came back and grabbed her daughter’s hand and actually looked at me. I’m not sure if they’d even registered me the first time they walked by.
“Sorry about that,” mom said, while daughter and dog watched.
“‘S’okay. He’s a good dog.” His eyes seemed to thank me.
“His name is Piper,” the little girl said. Mom looked impatient to continue on, but I don’t think she wanted to drag the girl away from me and look insensitive to the plight of the homeless.
“How do you know that?” I asked. The dog turned his big brown eyes on the girl as if awaiting her answer as well. She seemed a bit confused by my question.
“Cuz that’s what we named him. He’s Piper.” As though the logic was irrefutable.
The dog wagged his tail slightly every time the girl said “Piper.” He turned his gaze back to me. I looked at those eyes that knew so much and nodded. “That’s a good name. Good boy, Piper.” His tail wagged ever so slightly, and then mom was pulling Jilly along by the hand, and the dog had no choice but to follow.