An Unforgettable Lesson

There was something in the elderly woman’s grace（优雅）that caught my eye. Although slow and unsure of her steps, the woman moved with deliberation（从容），and there was no hesitation in her gestures.

It was a few years ago, and I had taken a part-time holiday-season job in a video store at the local shopping mall. From inside the store, I could see the people outside rushing by.

The elderly woman entered the store, along with her daughter, who was displaying a serious case of impatience, rolling her eyes, sighing and checking her watch every few seconds. I guessed if she had possessed a rope, she would have fastened it to her mother to drag her along to keep step with the rush of other shoppers.

The elderly woman separated from her daughter and began to seek through the DVDs on the nearest shelf. After the slightest hesitation, I walked over and asked if I could help her find something. The woman smiled up at me and showed me a title written on an old piece of paper.

Rather than rush off to locate the DVD for the woman, I asked her to walk with me so I could show her where she could find it. Looking back, I thought I wanted to enjoy her company for a moment.

Something about her deliberate movements reminded me of my own mother, who'd passed away the previous Christmas. I missed my mom and still felt regretful about the moments when I’d used my impatience to make her life unhappy.

As we walked along the back of the store, I introduced its floor plan: old television shows, action movies, cartoons, science fiction. The woman seemed glad of the unrushed company and casual conversation.

We found the DVD and she thanked me, saying that it was the one she’d enjoyed when she was her daughter’s age. Unwillingly, I accompanied her to the cash register. I realized I had to return the elderly woman to her daughter, who was still tapping her foot at the front of the store.

I worked in the local pet registration office in our neighborhood. It had been a few months since our beloved Bama had passed away. He’d lived a good, long life. My husband, Alan, and I didn’t have children. Our boxer (拳狮犬)was our baby. After Bama’s death, we couldn’t bring ourselves to go through his toys to decide what to keep, so we put them all in our closet. I told myself I’d do it when I was ready. Apparently, I still wasn’t.

Now I sat on my front porch and sobbed. Friends and family had suggested we get another dog, but Alan and I dismissed the idea. We couldn’t go through that kind of heartbreak again. Besides, I didn’t want just any dog. I wanted Bama.

I gazed out over the yard. Across the street was a dog. A boxer. I wiped the tears from my eyes. Was he real or just a myth of my wishful imagination? I blinked. The boxer was still there. We locked eyes. He ran at a moderately swift pace across the street, straight toward me. Tentatively, I offered my hand. He licked me. I let out a surprised laugh.

This dog was younger than Bama, smaller. Bama had been white, but this dog’s fur got stripes. He wore a collar but had no ID. I knew he must belong to someone in the neighborhood, but I’d never seen another boxer around. I would have remembered if I had.

“Where did you come from?” I asked the dog, scratching him behind the ears. He didn’t seem lost. Just as if he were dropping by for a visit. “Alan!” I called. “You have to come see this!”

Alan joined me, and we sat together in wonder for a moment. Then the boxer got up and ran off. In the following days, he’d sometimes appear in the backyard when Alan and I were outside. Other times, he’d wait for us on the front porch. “I wish he, d announce himself, ” Alan joked. “Knock on the door or something.” The next day, there was a strange scratching at the door. I opened it and saw the mystery boxer, doggie smile wide.

The dog seemed to know exactly what my husband and I needed.

Recovering from pain of the great loss, I wanted to know who his owner was.