It always happens just when I’m feeling most insecure about carrying a dog in a sling over my shoulder through the NYC subway system. Just when I’m pushing my way down the stairs against traffic and the eyes of annoyed passengers are daggers full of scorn and judgment. Just when I’ve found myself at a loss for words to describe (explain? rationalize?) to a dear friend why I won’t leave him in the car.

And it happened again this morning.

We get on the parked Q train at 57th and before we can sit down on the empty train a woman calls out to me. She has stopped on her way out of the station. She has separated from the leaving herd and come over to us.

And she tells me that she was having a really bad morning until she saw Archie.

Naturally, I bring him over and he (despite the panting) is happy to be petted. She tells us she’s a photographer and that she was having a really, really bad morning (which is saying something for 8:00am) until she saw us coming down the stairs.

She thanks us, though we did nothing, and leaves with a big smile to go about her day.

She feels better. I feel better. Archie strikes again.