Monocle

She knew it was time. Six months earlier, Emma’s well loved but aged greyhound had died after a long illness. They had been best friends for more than a decade, and Corset’s rheumatic hips and clouded eyes hadn’t taken away her playful spirit. When the vet told Emma that the unusually sluggish behavior was due to advanced cancer, she had cried with her face buried in Corset’s neck until the last breath. Her house had been so lonely without the beautiful dog, and Emma had lovingly packed the bowls and leash in a box in the attic. “I’ll never love another dog,” she told herself. “It hurts too much to lose them.”

The days were lonely without her best friend, and her co-workers had eventually hinted that she might be ready to think about adopting another dog. Emma had demurred. She wasn’t ready. It hurt too much. But now, she knew it was time. As she walked past the shelter on her way home from work, she spied a volunteer walking a grey pitbull who was pulling enthusiastically. He was big - probably 65 pounds, and had a big white spot around one eye. His ears were big and his face looked like he was laughing. “Slow down,” the young ponytailed volunteer grunted, but he kept pulling, his tongue hanging out and his eyes sparkling with the fun of chasing a new scent.

When Emma approached, he sat, wagging his tail and waiting for her eagerly. “Hi, fella,” she crooned, looking at the volunteer. “Can I pet him?” she asked.

The volunteer shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

Emma let the dog sniff her hand. He licked it. His eyes were huge and brown and when he looked at Emma, she knew he was the one. “Aren’t you beautiful?” she sang to him, rubbing first his chin and then giving him a good pat on the head. He wriggled with delight, his tail batting furiously against the sidewalk. She knelt on the ground and he licked her face with zeal. “What’s his name?” she asked the volunteer.

“Monocle,” he told her.