Never send to know

On my short trek between home and work I pass through a rather diverse landscape. I skirt around a huge industrial block, pass by a decrepit retail area, through a new and over-priced community of McMansions, past a healthier retail district, then on through a development of vintage post-WWII modified Cape Cods, into agricultural open space just waiting to be sold for some more overpriced McMansions (sale pending, from what I understand, for what the developer euphemistically calls “luxury town homes”). On the way I pass the usual morass of banks, gas stations and convenience stores. I also pass an older, well-established “assisted living” community run by a local off-shoot of Quakers.

Nearly every morning I drive past an elderly gentleman from the assisted living community walking his equally elderly shelties on the sidewalk. Near as I can tell, they make a daily morning expedition back and forth to a 7-11 convenience store about a tenth of a mile away. On of the shelties is tan and white, and the other is a tri-color. Even in hot weather the man wears a tan and brown herringbone patterned hat that is some sort of cross between a fedora and a bucket cap. He walks stooped and slowly, but apparently makes good time. His shelties shuffle along side of him, not quite walking at heel but well mannered enough to leave some slack in the leashes. Unlike hounds, the Shelties walk with heads held high, taking in the sights of the passing traffic and the children on their way to the elementary school a block the other direction. It’s passed my mind more than once that these dogs seemed to be looking out for their master, who does walk nose to ground, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

Monday morning when I saw them there was just the man and the tan and white sheltie. I briefly wondered, but figured that even dogs needed the occasional morning off. This morning I passed them again, just the man and one dog. A little part of my soul mourns for a dog who briefly brightened more than his master’s life.

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4 Comments

  1. That’s sad. Inevitable, but sad all the same. One can’t help but think of how his companions will be missing him.

    My usual daily walk takes me past a house where a fine elderly cat holds court. He’s almost inevitably in a basket, complete with snuggly blanket, on the veranda, but sometimes in the late afternoon he’ll follow the sun down to the footpath. He’ll deign to be patted, though I’ve been careful to let him see me before touching him ever since I realised that he’s deaf.

    Except he’s not there anymore, and hasn’t been for some time. The basket has been taken away. I sometimes see his (also elderly) people walking their (yes, also elderly) dog, but I haven’t had the courage to ask. There’s no need to, really.

  2. It is amazing how just one small thing can stand out of the landscape and brighten a seemingly drudge of a day. Thank you for sharing…

    Have a pleasant weekend!

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