Regrette

"You're quiet today, Curt."
"I'm always quiet."
"Today though...today seems different."

Today is different. I don't know why though. I had walked to the animal shelter, as I do from time to time. Beth, the woman at the shelter, is the one who noticed that I was a little off.

I spend time with a lot of different dogs, petting them, talking to them. It doesn't make me feel happy, or better about myself. I guess maybe it makes me feel less alone--like I have a kinship with all these unwanted dogs who are perfectly normal and good, and yet the world they find themselves in is not one in which they can just be. They are like me. Out of place. Alone.

I do it because I know it makes Warden jealous, his owner fraternizing with abandoned pitbull mixes and old and depressing beagles. Warden is the most jealous dog I've ever known, and I don't know why I like to bring out this unfortunate side of his, by returning home reeking of foreign dogs. But after a time, he always comes around, and forgives me. What choice does he have?

I do it because I don't have anything else to do. I do it because Beth is compelled to be nice to me just because she is nice to everyone that comes into the shelter and loves animals, and as far as she knows I'm a harmless old man, and she is young and adorable and knows when something is wrong with me even if I'm basically acting the same as I always act.

I surprise myself with the urgency with which I finally respond. "Everything is different, Beth," I say. "Because everything is the same and I was expecting everything to be different and I tried to do things to make everything different but they're not, everything still sucks, if you want to know the truth."

It is supposed to be eloquent and poetic. It is sad and pathetic. I don't know what I'm talking about. I have turned a reasonably pleasant situation into something awkward, a Jimenez Special.

She looks me in the eye, and I can't return the gaze. I am embarrassed.

Trying to make conversation, I ask if the mixed Mastiff/Great Dane puppy is available for adoption.

"You bet!" Beth says.

I am suddenly in a daze. I am signing the papers.

I am walking home with my new, giant puppy.

I am naming her Regrette, after the feeling that remains lodged in my gut.