Morning walk with my dog, the Goose. We meet what-could-be me and Goose’s future selves: an old man and his 10-year old black labrador.
Our dogs seem to get along. Old dogs are much more predictable, which helps Goose stay calm. She gets skittish with spazzy dogs, especially dogs that erupt into barking. This old dog doesn’t make a single peep during our time together.
So this old dude, my future self, asks, “How old is your dog?”
I say, “7 months.”
He says, “Wish we could change places with you.”
I assume he means that he and his dog could be young again, and me and Goose would then be old. Kinda an evil scheme, if he could actually manifest it. But he can’t, as far as I can tell. And he’s nice, no grumpy vibe at all.