It was a glorious day, sunny and warm, over 70˚ with clear blue skies, a late Spring day much more than a late November one. The geese, when not congregating in the golf course and at the edges of the lake, were flying low overhead, the whites of their bellies reflecting the gold of the sun. Duncan and I ventured out several times, our feet too restless to stay inside for long.
On our last trip to the park a group of small children approached, their parents standing just behind them. They asked politely if they could pet Dunc, who sat nicely for them but turned his face into the sun and closed his eyes while four sets of tiny hands patted his back and rubbed his head.
"Look," one of the little boys said. "He has a rainbow collar. Maybe he's a leprechaun."
"No, stupid," a girl who was only slightly bigger than him scolded. "It means he's gay." She then turned to me. "I have a gay uncle. He wears all sorts of rainbow stuff. Is your dog gay?"
I looked up the nearest grown-up, a woman who was standing back smiling at me.
"I don't think so," I replied. "But his dad and papa are."
They all nodded and proceeded to tell me about all the gay people they knew, all while the woman laughed and listened.
It's a good world and I'm thankful not only to be a part of it, but that my good red dog takes me out into every day.