I was near the back of the bus, but the voice traveled down from the front. A heavy-set, sad-eyed, middle-aged man. Dark haired. Nestled on his lap, a white Yorkie with a Service Dog coat. The voice was delicious to listen to - a slow, throaty, dolorous bass. He was talking to an elderly woman about the dog. "She gets in bed with me, but only for about fifteen minutes, then it's back in her house. She's worried about getting her tail stomped... She doesn't mix with other dogs - they taught her that in school... She doesn't like others to touch her..."
Something about this pair had me hooked. I was dying to get a seat further up, but every damn space was taken, and it would look too obvious to stand. The guy was showing the woman pictures of the dog (performing service tasks?) on his phone, and I wanted to see them too. The animal's life sounded a bit cloistral, and I wished she could enjoy romping with her kind. She was clearly loved though.
The bus got more crowded. The voice was harder to hear whenever the bus engine revved up, and some rude, thoughtless riders insisted on talking too. Shut up already! The voice was drowning out. He was waving his hands. I saw a gold signet ring. He brushed his nose several times with an upward swipe of the palm. The voice was gone.
Well, I don't usually do this, but when he rose to get off the bus, I got off too. I was hoping we might head in the same direction, and I thought I would ask about the dog. He did seem the type who'd need no prompting. But I was going south, and he was going north, and even curiosity wouldn't take me that way. Along the stalker path. So I headed on home, disappointed, thinking about the Yorkie's home (regular crate, or something more palatial?), and imagining small canine acts of helpfulness.