When our Jack Russell Terrier bounds through the house, lurches into the glass of the front door, and gazes longingly at the world outside, I don’t always want to drop my activities for a stimulating walk around the neighborhood. After all, I have urgent matters to tend to, like bills to pay and laundry to wash. All those immediate needs pile up like fall leaves, cluttering my life. Still, I usually relent and follow her lead; she has the world to explore. So we venture out, my companion strutting at an angle, like an old pickup out of line.
We pick our route carefully. My confident canine, endowed with more than a sensible dose of self-confidence, feels it her personal responsibility to challenge every four-legged animal, regardless of size or potential threat. I have learned, through past encounters, which streets have resident Dobermans or German Shepherds. Now we avoid those houses! Though most of the dogs in our town are chained or penned, that is not always the case. Besides, in the heat of the moment, they could burst free in all their excitement, and then all would be over for my little ferocious one.
Once out and about, discoveries await. When I walk, I see with whole eyes, not in glances from a car window. I have time to take in what I see, and contemplate what it might mean. I have found my neighbors to be an interesting, varied, and sometimes noble lot. Come with me, and I will show you what I mean.
Around the first corner, I see a new business has gone in, with handmade signs in the window and high hopes for the future. Optimism and free enterprise live on.
A gentleman gives me a friendly nod as he cleans his flowerbeds. Well-tended but small lawns give way to the school yard. The high school kids make their final rounds on the track as the late afternoon heat gives way to evening. Their lively voices catch the interest of my little companion as they chime together and recede.
We walk on. My terrier bounds with excitement as we pass a large lot with a huge beast. This new discovery calls for two spins, frantic lunges, and one tangle with leash and telephone pole before I convince her that it is only a horse, and we must move on.
Colorful rows of small square houses face each other across a broken and uneven street. Children tentatively come off of the porches to greet us while adults softly speak in Spanish from the shade. A little girl smiles shyly as we pass, my dog leaping in delight. We step aside as a young man turns in the drive in his battered black Corvette, in a hurry to come home and leave again.
We follow a lane into the town cemetery, down through the historic graves whispering tales of lost joys and sorrows. We find the angel statue, and sit for a moment in the full sun, considering how we came here and how far we are from home.
My Jack Russell watches attentively, and springs up as soon as I stir from the bench. She tolerates my slower pace, glancing back to signify her thanks for the outing. Suddenly, she sees some chickens scratching peaceably in the dirt. Their cackling reaches a crescendo as we pass their pen. She strains to investigate this new phenomenon. I pull her away, and she follows reluctantly.
A woman, with graying hair pulled back and plastic sack in hand, moves along slowly, picking up aluminum cans. After she gives us a careful appraisal, she nods in acknowledgement and returns to her search. Tears sting my eyes as I realize with something like shame and guilt that she should be living the leisurely life of old age, cared for within a family of loved ones.
Approaching a nursing home, we encounter one whose lot in life is considerably better. The family has come to take grandma for an outing, and she sits safely ensconced in the back seat of the Suburban.Her wheelchair follows behind, perched precariously on a lawn mower trailer, comic in its incongruity.
We turn the final corner toward home, and the yellow light glows from the front door. My neighbors wave as their grandchildren play in the shade of the sheltering oak tree. My canine companion rollicks with a satisfied air now, sated by a thousand sights and sounds. She is happy to smell the scent of home. It is good to take walks, to know our neighbors, and to come back where we belong.
© 2024 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved
Note: None of my content is AI generated. Ever.
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