I think it was a rainy day because the coffee tasted especially warm and every sip contained pieces of broken light within it. I saw this big, muscular dog waiting patiently under a tree. He seemed calm but had his gaze focused intently toward the Tim Hortons windows. It was his presence that held my attention and then my growing curiosity, to the point of awe. His eyes were filled with a knowing, thoughtful expectation that gave his face a human expression. I didn’t see the forlorn and pitiful look of abandonment adopted by most waiting pups, the fear, the restlessness, the fuss… just composure and a deepening resolve that kept me transfixed, wanting to know more.

I wanted to find out his story, his fate, whom he was waiting for, why he was waiting there for what seemed like forever while my coffee started to get cold and the rain was forgotten in the trance of it all.

People walked by, heavy with the ballast of their respective days, hoping to find some quiet or slight release for their weary minds in a Tim Hortons cup. The dog didn’t move, only stared ahead, calm.

Then I saw a tall man, faded and thin like his Salvation Army kakis and colourless hair, walk towards him. And in that moment the dog lit up with joy and jumped to greet him as if his heart had returned. I felt his joy and jumped up too because it was like the frozen scene had come to life and I was moved by it.

“So that’s your dog!?” I said. “He was waiting for you all this time. I’ve never seen anything like this before. His presence is almost human.”

The man smiled back with familiarity at a comment he would have heard many times before and shared his story in broad, vivid strokes – enough to see their world unfold. He had rescued the dog “from a drug house” where he was neglected and perhaps abused. They were two for the road now. After years of being homeless the man said he was finally living somewhere. In a mechanic’s shop. He once lived in the woods where he built a shed for himself from construction scraps he found all over the place. He said it with pride, remarking that it was more durable than the cardboard cookie-cutter boxes we call homes.

What I remember the most about this man was how free and contented he seemed compared to all the other people around him. Is it that the more we have, the more we fear? Is it that we carry around with us our dependencies and belongings, our dreams and expectations, wants and needs, relationships, responsibilities, unfounded worries, real and imaginary burdens, the weight of the world on our shoulders and never put it down, not even in our sleep?

That man and his dog were not waiting for anything. The look in his eyes was not strained with longing or hunger for things undefined, not fearful of the emptiness we try to fill with stuff. He didn’t seem to belabor whether he was living his life right or was scared by the irreplaceable loss of another’s heart. There was only lightness – without bounds.

They walked away together and I snapped this photograph, self-conscious of my trivial intent to capture the moment, lest I forget.

Someone once said that love is the most powerful and fragile thing. For however long, these two will share the same uncertain road as we all do. Without contending with its end. Just living for the moment, for the next cup of soup, for when the rain will stop. I thought: this man has everything he needs to be happy. And the way he and his dog stepped lightly into the day, in unison,  just as the sun came out – confirmed it.