According to the letter-sized sheet of paper taped to the wall of the seaside provisions market, “Justin” was a lost pet.
Justin, the poster claimed, would answer by name and be attracted to ham and cheese sandwiches, but only those that weren’t slathered in mayo, owing to his vegetarianism.
He’d been missing since May.
I’m sure it was just a cheeky coincidence.
What I was looking at in the super-detailed photograph that took up half the page’s real estate appeared to be that of an ordinary Musca domestica Linnaeus, though he was magnified about 300 times.
That’s “housefly” in English.
No relation to Ephemera vulgata … the “mayfly,” which, as a cousin to the dragonfly, should have stuck around through August.
I snapped a picture as a souvenir and moseyed onward. It’s been a hot summer. The bustle on this crowded street is lacking its usual haste.
Strange how a bit of whimsy poking through this straight-laced place, no matter the origin or authenticity, always brings me a fleeting amount of joy.
I smiled most of the way down the block, towing our own found-hound behind.
Despite the progress we’ve made to lengthen our walks from just a few steps to all along the beach and all the way into town, we can admit the puppy still likes to lollygag.
He flits from person to thing, sniffs here and there, and sits with his head angled sideways. Eyes looking upward, past his wrinkled brow.
We tell ourselves we need to socialize a dog of his demeanor. Open him up to a world of chaos and noise, and let him make sense of it; something our other dogs had been too anxious to work out.
The shops here have been accommodating with their strategically placed water bowls, inviting us in to browse inside, not just the sidewalk sale.
There’s always a line that promises a little taste of bliss, and with it a shady spot where the rest of the party can hunker down as we wait. You can talk to strangers. They will ask if they can say hi to your dog. There will be enough delight in that little interaction to go around even if the store sells out of whatever magic elixir it had been selling.
Though it’s meant a pretty penny — what with the fancy accessories here and the adorable, handmade treats over there — the value of feeling welcome has few limits.
Being welcome is the thing that feels weightless.
His cute puppy face, I know, has an expiration date. Soon enough it will expand, turn rugged, his wrinkles will harden and become tightly defined. The curious expression he shows now will seem cooler and more calculating.
The tones will translate their “oohs and ahhs” differently. Folks will stoically reclaim the space they’d given us.
May would come again, and August would follow at a frightening speed, and everything would shift from small-world charm to large-world normal. The dog will be waiting for us at home while we stand in the queue for ham and cheese sandwiches. We’ll think nothing of the fly buzzing through the line.
I wonder if he might be the long-lost Justin; I heard the aioli was vegan.
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