I’m about to bite into the vanilla donut I got at the corner bakery (name: Jodi’s Bakery and Donut Shop) when my leather daily planner starts to slip outta my tan hoodie and careen towards the shallow, muddy puddle I’m currently stepping over.
A small dog (name: Reginald), maybe the size of two of my vanilla donuts stuck together, runs in front of me causing me to twist my torso and kick my foot, which connects with my planner, saving it from ruin and preserving my plans, which I cannot remember and have not been entered into a digital device.
I manage not to fall over, and as I steady myself, I call out to the dog who saved my plans and offer him a bit of my donut, yelling out his name, which I saw on his name tag as he dashed past me.
Reginald returns to me only to shun my offer of reciprocation and bite my light blue jeans, leaving a mess of slobber and dog breath while also saddening my heart, which was ready to crown Reginald as it’s new champion and savior.
I remind myself that other dogs at other times in other places may save me from planner destruction, and they may be more receptive to my gifts of gratitude and humbly accept the love of my heart offered to them in the form of a tasty, sugary, fresh pastry.