Symbiosis

I sit with my thermos of coffee on the mall: a mile-long promenade, arcades of elms flanking a generous aliquot of benches. But at this early hour it starts to dawn: I am the only one without a dog. So, a witness to an ancient symbiosis, as it's evolved within a modern city: The dogs, I note, are smaller, the owners less ferocious. The former sniff then poop, the latter, like potty-training parents, pat their heads, gather it in plastic doggy-bags. It's no longer for the hunt or for protection; both species have adapted to survive hard loneliness inside a small apartment.