Subtext

My Friend and Maggie walked together, talking. They were saying all kinds of words, but what they were really saying, over and over, was “I hope you like me.” That was silly, to think that they would not love each other— but sometimes humans are slow to figure things out, because they are heartstupid.
You are, too. That’s okay. Just get a dog. Dogs can teach you all kinds of things about your heart.

Brief Cases, Zoo Day, Page 416


My Friend knew he had to assess the threat he sensed, and that was proper. But he was worried to leave Maggie alone. He trusted me, but no safety measures could ever be thorough enough for him to feel completely sure she would be all right. He was right. Nothing is truly safe in this world—and that being the case, why worry about threats that have not yet appeared? Far wiser to make what preparations one could, face trouble as it arose, and be happy in the meantime.
That might be the saddest part of human heart-stupidity: how much happiness you simply leave aside so that you have enough time to worry. I know sometimes I’m not very smart, but I don’t see what’s so interesting about worry.
My Friend spoke to me. He used many words, but what his heart said was, “I don’t want to leave her even for a single second, but I trust you to protect my daughter while I am fighting evil.”
I told him I would. He’s learned enough to know how to hear me when I say that much. Then he took us to a place with food smells and got Maggie and me French fries to eat while he scouted out the threat.

Brief Cases, Zoo Day, Page 420