Knowing When To Let It Go
I was walking my Shiba Inu, Louie, when I first spotted them. A Husky-looking dog running loose in the grass field in the middle of the park. The couple I took for its owners walked up ahead along the paved path, not paying any attention to their dog. As I watched the dog sniffing around for the perfect spot, I already knew what was about to happen and felt annoyance bubbling into anger. Owners letting their dogs off leash in public is already a pet peeve of mine, and watching the dog squat and poop before running off to catch up made it a double offense in my mind.
I happened to be carrying a tied-off bag of Louie’s shit, and seriously considered quickening our pace so I could catch up and wave it in their face. Ask if they wanted to borrow one of my bags so they could go back and do the right thing.
But as I got closer, ready to say something, I started picking up details I’d missed from afar. The woman pushing twins in a stroller, and the father, I assumed, the two of them arguing as they walked. She had this tired, worn-down anger on her face, like this wasn’t the first fight of the day and this dynamic was embedded in the fabric of their relationship.
All the anger that had been driving me drained away the more I watched them. They were already in their own hell. What was the point of adding to it? So I walked past. Not because I was scared to say something, but because sometimes growth means recognizing when to let something go.