it was on one of those 35plus degree days last week (about a million with the humidex) when @michaelthepooch and i were in the dog park that this became glaringly obvious.
i was sitting on a picnic table in the shade, my head in my hands, sweating. just living and sweating.
i looked around at the other puppy-parents scattered on tables under trees throughout the pit doing the same. our eyes would meet and slowly our gazes would fade back to the ground between our feet. unable to muster the energy required to engage in polite chit chat to pass the time.
a moment later a newfoundlander (k9 not human) came stumbling into the park. his owner following lowly a few paces behind in an obvious b-line trajectory to the one remaining free picnic table.
as he approached he glanced back and forth at the other humans taking refuge in the shade with desperation in his eyes.
finally, he dropped to the bench next to me with a reverberating thump.
and without a seconds pause, looking straight out into the sun drenched plain, he simply said "fuck".
any other day, this kind of remark would prompt disapproving glances or raised eyebrows among the sheepishly polite park parents. but that day, and on these damn hot days, when that word so perfectly captures the difficulty of simply existing, it was met with a wave of nodding heads.
