Mario and the Missing Walking Stick

 

When Cooper and I arrived at Bayfront Park yesterday (2nd Feb) morning it was to find that my trusty "third leg" - a walking stick - was nowhere to be found in the car.  It's essential for our walks.

Cooper was good enough to do his business within three minutes of our arrival at the park.

We drove back to my home to get my "spare" and off we went to the 17th St. dog park. There was the missing stick, leaning against the bench where I sit whilst Cooper romps.

I had an AHA moment.   On Saturday 1st. I'd had a marvelous and enriching conversation with one Mario who was there with his dog.

Mario and I had never before met. He was born in Italy and moved with his family to the U.S.A. when he was seven years old.  

We prattled at length.  

About being a first grader at age seven.

About Winston Churchill - the good and the bad.

About my visit to San Gimignano where I visited the Church where my Pittsfield Parishioner Rina DiOrio had been baptised.

About both of us being members of large families.

About Viet-Nam where Mario had served, and I had visited as a tourist.

Mario began to cry.  Partly because of his Viet-Nam memories.  Partly (as he said) for the joy of having this conversation.

I too was deeply moved.

So much so that as Cooper and I returned to our car I was so happy as to forget my walking stick.

And there it was, a silent witness to a lovely encounter.