A Dog In The Window

On this spring morning I drive down Highway 47 toward work in the morning.  Stopping for a red light at Pleasant Avenue I get a feeling someone is watching me.  I glance back over my left shoulder and there, in a second story window, is a dog watching me. The house is blue. The dog has big ears that flop down and a black and white face or a brown and white face or maybe even a red and white face.  All I can see is the dog's head, neck, and shoulders.  The dog is alert and looking down at the street to the north and to the south. Is the dog sitting on a couch or a chair?  How many times have I missed this dog looking at me? For some reason, noticing this dog that notices me gives me a feeling of comfort and security.  The light turns green.  I drive on.  The morning light is interesting as I cross the Rum river.  As I come to the top of the hill that arcs up over the railroad tracks, the morning sun is breaking over the horizon like a red rubber ball. Do I have problems?  Yes, we all have problems.  But today is a good day (so far).  And the next morning I see the dog in the window is there again.