Looking at dogs with a stranger on a cracked phone (Part II)

Reflections on the last year, facing challenges previously kept at bay, and being reminded of life's preciousness by strangers, a big Bull Mastiff, and a few beers in a small bar in NYC. (Part 2 of 2)

* Click here for Part I of Looking at dogs with a stranger on a cracked phone

Lucifer had big eyes and a big snout, and when I walked in the big mastiff pressed her 140-pound body into me. I rocked into the wall of the small bar and then scratched her head, assuming the best from my new friend.

“You’ve met Lucifer,” her owners, a man and woman about my age, said. “Lucy, for short.”

I looked down. “You are the most precious thing.” Lucifer stretched her big neck into my chest.

The bar had five stools and ran only a few yards in length. Lucy’s owners sat near the window at the only table in the place. I grabbed a stool across from taps pouring German and Austrian beer and ordered a pilsner.

My fingers, still cold and wet from the rain, shook as I wrote notes about New York - in the past and in the present - and made scribbles on how the certainty of youth gave way to questions in adulthood. The beer tasted good, so I ordered another.

Lucifer dug her big paws into my thigh. When I bent to inquire just what she thought she was doing, her tongue landed on my cheek.

“Lucy,” her owners called.

I smiled and said, “She knows a sucker with two dogs of his own at home.” Yes you do, I whispered to Lucy, our faces nearly touching.

“What type?” They asked.

“Two rescue pit-bulls.”

“Can we see them,” they motioned for me to take the small, open seat at their table.

“That’s Sula and that’s Rya,” I pointed out on my phone. “Big and spoiled lap dogs with more attitude than sense but eyes so soulful they get away with it.”

We scrolled through a few more photos.

“Lots of cracks on your phone,” they joked.

I paused a beat, weighing my next words. I know,” I said. “Like my life.”

“Hah!” They laughed. Surprised, I think, by my candor. A moment passed as she looked at him, and he shrugged at her.

“Us too,” she said.

We laughed together for the first time, clinking our glasses and giving cheers.

They met years ago, they said, living in New York. Were together for a long time back then but had drifted apart.

“The city happened to us, I guess. It can pull and pull at the edges of who you are until one day… poof… all you are is those edges, with nothing left in between. Sometimes that’s good. Sometimes it isn’t….”

She had dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her green eyes misted as her voice trailed off. He reached for her hand and locked fingers with hers. Their shoulders dropped, just a touch and only for a second, but together.

“Can be hard to get back to center,” I added. Lucy’s head rested in my lap, her eyes nowhere close to open.

They reconnected just over a year ago. “And we’re blessed to have turned over all the seasons together,” he shared.

Sometime as we spoke the bartender brought another round.

I shared about P and me. “We met at this old-world style place - the type with a fireplace burning in the corner and stuffed cabbage rolls on the menu. It was a Friday night, and we were both having dinner and reading alone. She walked in in a mustard yellow knitted Pom Pom Beret loudly talking about a couch she never bought and was upset I was in the corner barstool she wanted.

My heart started skipping and after an hour of nerves building while sitting next to her, I finally said hello. That was nine years ago. Life happens fast.”

“So does love,” she added, and grinned at him.

“To falling in love again,” I said to them.

“To already being in it,” he said back.

“To life,” she added, “and all its messes and blessings.”

Our glasses met a final time.

We talked a little longer, about how Christmas feels more real when you’re in New York, plans to travel, and big dogs who think they need to sleep on beds.

Mostly we talked to fill the space until our beers were empty and it was time to say our goodbyes. I said mine - first to them and then to Lucifer - and walked again in the rain and cold until I felt ready to eat.

I found a near-empty Italian place with weary wood floors and dust collecting on bottles on the shelf. Sitting alone, a pour of Chianti and a plate of lasagna as company, I thought about things.

First about P, Sula, and Rya, home on this Sunday night, wrapped in blankets and watching a movie. I missed them.

About the last year, and spending most of it wrapped inside my head, trying to be okay while none of the puzzle pieces seemed to fit.

About Lucifer, and how her heavy head tilted whenever I scratched behind her ears.

I thought about the night, my conversation, and the people I’d met. About how we’re all a collection of stories, damaged but beautiful, scribbled into our little notebooks with laughs and through tears.

I thought about the moment I’d just had and being grateful for the shared experience with two new friends and a mastiff named Lucifer.

I hoped they enjoyed it, too, this moment they’d stumbled into after looking at dogs with a stranger on a cracked phone.

Friends, I wish you love and happiness this year. We love you, and we’ll see you when we see you.