There is a new chicken coop at the elementary school across the street. Ever since I found out about it a few days ago, I’ve been taking my almost 15 year old Italian Greyhound there to look at the chickens. He has never seemed interested.

Today, I was there with Trotsky, trying to make him interested in the chickens, when a woman walked up to the coop. She had one of those yoga vibes where she seemed way too neurotic and self-aware to make any sort of comfortable conversation. I am, of course, the same.

Nevertheless, I attempted small talk. I said, “I’m trying to get him interested in the chickens.”

She replied, “Why do you want to get him interested in the chickens?”

I said, “He’s a bird dog and he always used to get excited by birds. But, now, he’s really old and can’t see them.”

“Oh.”

We walked away.