A few years ago my dog and I were in the alley a block from home when a dog came racing out of an unlocked gate barking the way dogs do when they’re going to attack. I scooped my dog up in my arms and turned my back while the other dog’s human came screaming after her dog, then swore at me. Why the f— do you have to walk this way? It had already been a tough, tough day, and whatever relief the long walk had brought was poof, gone. The incident haunted me.

Years later, that same woman came out in the alley as I was walking by, and I steeled myself. But she was crying. I want to tell you how sorry I am for the way I screamed at you that day. We talked. Her husband had been in the middle of a horrifying round of cancer treatment. I hugged her. Despite the sad understanding of our later conversation, I can still feel that huge wave of loneliness from our first encounter.

And You…, by Jason Allen-Paisant

walk in a midwinter ochre wood
to get some england sun
as it steals away—
a little poodle runs to show you love;
you like the feel of the animal’s body
on your leg; it’s something
of an acceptance so you smile
and are not the least bothered; you even hope
it’ll jump, though the lady yells
no jumping Sam! no jumping!
and when she adds ‘you know he
just loves EVERYbody!’ why should you
suddenly feel tears coming?—
it’s just that EVERYbody; how do you
explain this? there’s nobody to explain
it to: why she needed to take away
from you this one feeling of special?
how could she know it was the most
human moment of your day—
the most human moment in weeks?

Click here for more information about Jason Allen-Paisant. 

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alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter