Extended Hours

A goofy LACMA Security Guard walks over to where Peach has abruptly stopped on the way home for the second time in twenty yards and plopped herself down in the sandy gravel to ask if I mind if he gets nosey.
I say nosey.
He says he’s read about how dogs sometimes refuse to go forward to protect their owners from trouble around the corner.
I say I think she’s just tired.
He says dogs can do that.
I say the museum is more crowded than usual today, a lot more people than she’s used to, wiped her out.
He says we’re on extended hours.
I say a lot of kids running around, tourists, a lot of Euros to pay attention to.
The guard’s left hand is lame, maybe the whole left arm, a birth defect, perhaps, so he pets her with his right.
He says what’s her name?
I say Peach.
He plays with Peach for a while, bringing her back to life.
I say maybe she stopped to meet you.
He smiles a big goofy guard smile and says maybe.
I say and keep me from getting hit by a car.
He says that would be good, too.