Whenever I pass someone on my dog-walking path, I always remove my earphones, and if we start talking I remove my glasses. Not everyone says hello, but many do and I don't want to miss any of them. Whether it comes as a simple head nod or actual words, that brief contact with other humans gives every day a fresh start.
Interestingly, I didn't get many of these before I started walking our puppy. I guess it's easier to greet someone with a dog than a solitary pedestrian. As if the dog has provided the walker with some kind of seal of approval "I'm a dog person, I must be nice." Now of course that's not always true, there are plenty of anti-social dog people who are probably only liked by their dogs, but on the whole, dog walkers greet each other on the path.
Rocco needs at least 2-3 miles a day to avoid becoming a monster, so I'm out at least twice a day with him. At 80 lbs, black and unaffected by the constraints of his metal pinch collar, he can be a little intimidating. Especially on the days he's trying to drag me around from tree to bush to post (I imagine his internal dialogue goes along the lines of "this is mine and this is mine and this is mine!") and it looks like he might escape my grip. Only Lab people are unimpressed by all of this bouncy bossiness. They bend over with just the right mix of bend and step back, to avoid the inevitable nose crashing that comes from a hyperactive lab puppy hell-bent on kissing you on the lips.
In my daily dog travels I often see older women walking down to the water with bags of crackers and bread to feed the "please don't feed the wildlife." I've seen a women throwing whole slices of bread and round Ritz crackers, because, you know, that's what ducks need for a hearty breakfast - more sodium. I tend to mock these women, only in my head, because I fundamentally disapprove of feeding wildlife. I guess it's nice to be surrounded by adoring ducks and screeching seagulls, and maybe it feels like love, but it's bad for them. It's also bad for the rest of us who might want to do something silly like eat a sandwich unmolested by the lagoon. But I'm not looking for a fight with these little old ladies, so I usually give them the eye and a wide berth.
This morning, one of those bird feeders passed me as I walked up the path and she down to the water. She stopped to say hello, or rather, she stopped me and started talking excitedly about the beautiful day and my beautiful dog and his need to pee on everything; as if we knew each other. It was unexpectedly a nice chat, not overly meaningful, just warm and friendly. She didn't stay for long, and upon parting, she hugged me. I was equal parts touched and surprised and I hugged her back. She smelled just like she should, lightly scented with that older-woman perfume that is both familiar and floral. That unexpected hug filled me with a sense of well-being that I kept with me the whole morning.