Looking down the nearly empty platform I see the silhouette shape of a dog, funny to see those perky, almost-bat ears stark against the white tile walls of the underground. A completely still police-dog is something unusual. Obvious kinetic energy stalled as calm potential is something unusual. I wish I could sit and talk with all service dogs. This one is almost telling me something. “An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language” or so says Martin Buber. The trouble is translation. The dog pants for a moment and it seems awfully happy but who knows. What is known, though, is what isn’t known, how even its poor master is unawares of the bigger beast they both serve, here, down in one of the bellies of the belly of it. So I walk right past the dog and start climbing stairs.