On Friday morning I was walking Randy, my friend’s microwave sized black and sleek dog, in prospect park. We had finished a vigorous round of fetch and were heading home — windswept and fulfilled.
As we walked from the grass towards the road, another person and their microwave sized beige and fluffy dog were passing us. The dog had a massive stick in its mouth, wide as a soda can. As we approached I heard the person saying — nearly growling — “who’s a big shot? who’s a big shot?” to their ever-so-small dog. When Randy and I passed the person said, “there’s a big shot” to him too.
this sent me.
I found this encounter to be completely endearing and heartwarming. The question felt utterly affectionate and congratulatory to their dog, triumphantly trotting with what I may as well call lumber toward the horizon/baseball field. The hailing of Randy (“there’s a big shot!”) felt so friendly and exuberant, somehow both tongue in cheek and deeply sincere.
I don’t totally know why affection is kind of funny; by now I know that roasting people tells love like little else can. It might be something about clear, open hearted, celebratory witness. There’s a humor in precision, maybe something to do with accuracy’s relief.
In this case, “big shot” is not accurate physically, but it is energetically. These dogs, the big shots, are small in stature but quite immense in spirit, in exuberance, in appetite.
I am not necessarily a Dog Person, or even a Pet Person, but I have to respect their lust! for! life! They are so often impossibly overjoyed. It is contagious. It softens.
And my, what a silly gift when the people follow suit, try to match it. *who’s a big shot??* LOOK! AT! YOU! Perhaps the humor is also born of the relief of being delighted in, of being adored; freaks, all of us.
I can’t and won’t speak for Randy, but we both had a pep in our step as we made our way home.