Like millions of others around the globe, I spent lots of time this week reading about and watching the party in Washington D.C. My favorite stories are the man- or woman-on-the-street interviews, where inaugural pilgrims talk about spontaneous expressions of kindness and affection among strangers. I’ve been in a sort of cocoon of optimism, so the news that a dog, hanging out in his backyard (probably barking), not far from my home, was shot by an unknown assailant was like a body blow. The bullet shattered, splitting the bone in Bondo’s right front leg. His owner isn’t sure how he’ll pay for the $4,000-procedure his dog needs.
It’s not that I don’t know that dogs, and people for that matter, suffer cruelty and violence every day. But lately I’ve been distracted by the idea of our better selves. And there's the thing: One of the features of the human-dog relationship that I admire is the way our furry companions so often bring out what is best in us. When the opposite is true, it's a dark day.