By Charles M. Sumid
Copyright 2025 Written 2010

Eight years of Saturdays,
same guy in the blue apron,
patient with the goldfish questions,
the hamster wheel concerns,
the which-bird-talks debates.

Always by the small animals,
explaining cedar chips
versus paper bedding
like it mattered. Which
to him, it clearly did.

He’d crouch eye-level
with six-year-olds,
discussing guinea pig
temperaments with the gravity
some reserve for wine.

“Now Charlotte here,”
he’d say, “she’s contemplative.
Needs a quiet home.
But Trixie? See how she
watches everything?
She needs action.”

Saturday mornings I’d be there
buying my dog food,
watching him, admiring his patience
with the woman who
couldn’t decide between
two matching hamsters,
the teenager wanting
a snake his mother
wouldn’t allow,
the lonely man who
just needed to talk
about his late parakeet.

Then last month,
my niece mentions
her Philosophy professor
at University of Chicago.
Shows me his photo
from the department website.

“I know him!” I say.
“What?” she asks.

Same patient eyes,
same careful way
of holding attention.
“Pet Palace,” I tell her.
“He works at Pet Palace
on Saturdays.” She laughs,
then stops. “That’s…
that’s really fitting.
He says philosophy is about
learning to live well
with others. I guess
that includes guinea pigs.”

The next Saturday
I watch him in a new way.
How he guides the boy
toward the calmer rabbit,
away from the one that
would be too much.
The ethics of matching
creature to context.
The philosophy of care
practiced between
the fish tanks
and the bird cages.

“I heard you teach,” I say
while he bags my dog food.
He smiles. “Here too,”
he says. “Another curriculum.
Same questions, really.
How to live together.
What we owe each other.
Whether a hamster
has Buddha nature.”
The last part deadpan,
but also not.

Eight years I’d watched
a master class in
practical wisdom,
thinking I was seeing
customer service.

His teenage coworkers
roll their eyes at
his careful explanations,
not knowing he’s serving
Aristotle alongside
the gerbil food,
ethics with the
aquarium filters.

Now Saturdays shimmer
with this understanding.
The philosophy professor
who could be anywhere,
choosing to be here
in a blue apron,
teaching the art
of living well
one goldfish at a time,
knowing that wisdom
isn’t about knowing
but about kneeling
eye-level with a child,
taking seriously
the question of which
small life belongs
with which small life,
if the universe
depends on getting
it right.

Which,
in a way,
it does.

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All content © Charles M. Sumid, [2025]. All rights reserved. This includes all poetry, essays, analyses, and accompanying commentary. Use of this work does not transfer copyright or intellectual property rights.