“We’re going for a walk,” I call to John as I clip Hector to the leash. Hector is the new dog. He’s figuring the street out—analyzing smells at posts, cocking his head at distant barks, growling at squirrels and rabbits he can’t chase.
My street is wide with no sidewalks, few cars. The curve past the two small ponds is a wonder of colored sun on water. The reflection of the sensuous plants and flowers, the shadows of the thin, tall trees, the breeze in the high leaves. . . I know why Hector wags his whole body with delight when I ask him, “Want to go for a walk?”