I've been meaning to write about Dianne Dog Day for several weeks now. Today I am sick at home and bored, so it seems like the time to do it. Also, I'm not feeling very wordy, so I might have a shot at writing a strong, concise entry.
Dianne was leaving Korea and hadn't eaten dog soup yet. Neither had Jenny, Ruth, and I, so we set a date. Due to four busy schedules, we set the date a month in advance, on Dianne's last day in Korea. Due to four poor planners, by the time we all got together a month later it felt like we'd spontaneously decided to do it that afternoon. Jennie and I were late, and we got lost.
We got found, too. Then we went to dinner. We were the only people in the restaurant, besides the handful of ajimas working there. They laughed at our broken Korean and laughed at us taking pictures of the food. We laughed, too.
It wasn't bad, the dog soup. It wasn't great either. It was like beef if beef were always too chewy and had a slightly off flavor.
The ajimas had a TV running in the back, and I glanced at it in time to see 'Oklahoma City' flash across the screen in sky blue script. Then I saw a familiar face, though no-one I've ever met personally. It was a face I'd passed while shelving biographies at the bookstore and had caught on an episode of Opera once. It was Faith, the miracle dog.
I looked at the dog on TV.
I looked at the dog in my soup bowl.
It was a beautiful moment. Thank you man's best friend, for loyalty on some days and dinner on others. Thank you universe for sweet moments of irony.
(Thank you Ruth for these pictures I stole off your Facebook page.)