face the strange

Waiting for the traffic light, listening to the noise around me, I looked down and saw a dog - one that was shaped like an actual dog, with short black fur, a proper nose, bright eyes, and a remarkable amount of patience for being so quiet in the face of all the noise. Cars, trucks, horns, traffic all around, a cement mixer driving by that whined and gave off these weird high-pitched noises as the mixer turned, and I thought that if it was loud for me, it must be unbearable for her. She was very well-trained in leash work and boundaries, and as well-trained and well-adjusted as she was, it made me think: New York City isn't good for her.

She was mostly quiet, except for one point where she made something like a whine mixed with a whimper. I told her, "I don't blame you." But I don't think she heard me what with all the noise around us.

At the next corner, I complimented her behavior on who I thought was her owner; she said she was just the walker, and the dog's name was Kato, and she was impressed at her, too. I didn't ask to pet her, just looked at her, watching a little kid ask if she could pet Kato herself instead. I thought about how her owners needed to commission a walker's services, and how it could be a brief thing due to a family emergency or it could be a standing commitment, and knowing Manhattan, it's likely the latter. It still strikes me as strange to keep an animal like a dog as a pet in a big city, and looking at her today, it feels even stranger. I walked across the park and listened to the sounds of the vehicles and thought about how unpleasant I found it, and how the city isn't designed for auditory comfort. It could be, and it isn't, and it saddened me to think how much worse Kato must have things.