Old Dogs and Angels

The dog is a big black lab with a gray muzzle. I squat down to look at him, I want to pet him but I don’t want to startle him. I’m using my “talk to dogs” voice, but he’s not turning his head. I’m holding my camera low to the ground, at dog nose height, but he’s so clearly not aware that I’m there. I give up on the photo.

When I turn around, the kid is behind me. He’s 20, maybe, big and brown with curly hair. Maybe he’s got some Pacific Island in him, maybe something else, he speaks fluent Spanish with some of the other people wandering around the farm. I like the look of him, his wild curly hair and kind eyes.”You’ll have a nice picture of the dog,” he says.

“She’s deaf, isn’t she? Well, he? Is it a boy or a girl?”

“His name is King.” He pauses. “What’s your occupation?”

“I’m a writer.”

“You’re observant,” he says, and he smiles at me. “I meet a lot of intellectual people here on the farm, you’d be surprised. They notice things, like you do.  One time, there was a nuclear scientist here, he kept touching the fruit and commenting on how cold it was. He was really into how it held the temperature. You’d be surprised how many people are walking around not noticing anything.”  He paused. “Can I ask you for some advice?”

“I guess. Sure.”

“Well, I have this boss, not here on the farm, I have this other job. This woman, she talks to me real fast, shotgun. And she acts like I don’t have the intelligence to understand her. But she’s just going too fast. I think she thinks I’m not that smart.”

This kid is smart. There’s something disarming about him, his deeply personal manner, his interest, his own attention to the people around him. He’s so open and likeable. I’m trying to asses him in this tiny moment, but I can’t place him. Were he sitting next to me on a city bus, I might mistake him for somehow disabled, but he’s way switched on. I know a few kids with Asperger’s, I think of them briefly, but that doesn’t fit.

“You know, sometimes, people are totally wrapped up in their own pace,” I say, thinking of how hard it is to operate in foreign langagues. “Sometimes, I just ask them to slow down.”

It’s a beautiful fall day. The kid is holding a box of apples. Everything smells good, the sky is Kodakchrome blue. The birch trees are in flames of color. The old dog squints into the distance. The kid smiles at me.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he says, and he looks genuinely happy.

“I hope that it works for you. Good luck.” I’m not dismissing him at all, but it’s totally clear that we’re done. I start walking towards the car. “Have a great afternoon,” I say.

“You too, and thanks for the enlightenment.”

We are on the edge of a pumpkin patch. I think of Linus and there’s a spark in my brain. “Oh, he’s an angel! That’s it!” Then, the moment is gone.