My new favorite person is a man named Andy. I don' t know his last name. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know me, but he knows my dog and my dog loves him. Three or four times a week I take our dog for a run around the park near our house. On Sunday mornings, we sometimes come across Andy. He works (or volunteers) for the Highland Park Park District and he's probably at least 70. I know his name because his official Park District name tag tells me so. Our exchange is the same every time we see him. His face lights up when we approach (though I'm not sure if we remembers us) and he immediately focuses on Stella (the dog). He looks up at me with a smile and asks if he can give her a couple dog biscuits. He always has biscuits. I say, of course, and Stella wags her tail with glee and wolfs them out of his hand. He chuckles, rubs her head, and we go on our way.
I wish I knew why this exchange makes me feel so good. Truly joyous people seem to be in the minority, and I myself sometimes simply slog through my day. But Andy is joy personnified. That makes me (and Stella) happy.
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