What should(n't) have surprised me.
Twice recently, while telling other walkers about the recent firings at the cemetery, they have taken the side of management. "Maybe they need the money"; "Maybe the workers have been there so long they make a lot of money, so they're starting over with new workers"; "Let's hope it's for the better." At best, a shrug and a "too bad." At worst, a defense of vulture capitalism's inhumane treatment of workers. And always, "I hope it turns out for the best." One walker kindly offered to tell me good news the next time she hears it.
Coda: last night on our last short walk, Lilith and I ran into a neighbor who named her black dog Betty White. A pert dog, often dressed in raincoat or sweater, walking with her person every morning and afternoon. "Where's your other half?" I asked her, walking by herself. "She died." Rather suddenly, at five years old, though several vets had pronounced her just fine in her last week. RIP Betty White. A good dog. While she and I talked, Lilith sat on her haunches, clearly aware.
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