I can always count on Moe.

Yesterday, as I was out on an afternoon walk with my dog Moe slushing through the snow that lines my neighborhood street, my mind was in a dark place. I felt emotionally depleted.

The chaotic personal and political had taken its toll.  Suddenly, a maroon car stopped in the middle of the street, and the driver, a Hispanic woman who had a glowing ear-to-ear grin rolled down the window and asked, “Is that Moe?”

She said she knows my blonde lab from early morning walks with my husband, Hersh.

With the car still running, she bounded out of the Ford Explorer SUV, running to hug a tail-wagging, tush-wiggling Moe. It was a love, smooch fest, and Moe wrapped his large paws around her as she cooed to him in Spanish.

Suddenly, I was smiling ear to ear, too. I didn’t need to know the language she was speaking to understand the meaning.

Watching pure joy, spontaneous love mutually expressed, was a gift. I hugged this stranger, who now became my friend, because she loves Moe.

This is America!