Dog

I was riding the train to the city. The density of people was beautifully low so I sat at the back with my friend in the special needs compartment, where the seats are comfy and the leg room is phenomenal. It only took a few stops before someone sat across from us. This man had a dog, a great dane, big fellow.

Before he sat across from us, I had heard him approaching down the train hall. Specifically, I heard his great dane growling and snapping viciously at the other passengers, followed immediately by a sincere apology from its master. I was quite worried but I didn't want me and my friend to get up. It would be rude. Also, the seats were great.

What this meant, however, was that the dog snarled and snapped at us while its master stammered to explain that it wasn't used to train rides and it'd just recovered from surgery. I made idle conversation, asking about what stop the man was getting off on, and what breed of dog, and if he had a family to help take care of the damn thing, among other topics. The dog was starting to calm down, so he encouraged me to let it sniff my hand.

I extended my hand. It sniffed it. I patted it on the head.

It immediately fell silent except for a desperate whimper, then backed up so far that it was practically underneath the seats. Something in me had scared it beyond any possible comprehension of the mind.

After a moment of stunned silence my friend whacked me in the arm and said, "Dammit Will, did you have to steal the poor thing's soul?" The mood lightened and the dog crawled back out of its hiding place, and the rest of the trip was pleasant and amiable.

But sometimes the urge to snarl and snap at strangers strikes me, and I wonder if maybe I did steal that dog's soul after all.