First, a heartfelt thank you for your kind, wise, supportive words. If you haven't read the older post, read the comments. I was - am - stunned, surprised, warmed, encouraged. And Jenn in the City, thank you for your post.
So we were walking the last group today. Tracey was back from Christmas with family. The whippets were happy to see Tracey and their little friend Francie, the corkie. (I have GOT to get a picture of Francie, sorry.) Tracey and I were flapping our lips faster than little Francie's feet were trot, trot, trotting on the sidewalks. We had a lot of catching up to do.
We were on Broadway, right downtown between 4th and 3rd streets, I think. The dogs four abreast, Tracey and I close enough to be companionable, but not in danger of leash entanglement. And then, without any forewarning, or without preamble or acknowledgement, we were three. We'd been joined by "overhaul man."
Suddenly, stride for stride, in line with and between Tracey and me, walked a third member of our little troupe.
"Y'all gonna hitch them four up to a cart and let 'em pullya? Cause that's what you outta do."
Tracey and I swivelled our heads like Tiger Woods' golf swing, each wondering if the other had been suddenly possessed by an urge to sound like a pudgey forty year old good ol' boy. Nope. We had, in fact, been joined by an honest to god pudgy forty year old good ol' boy. He had just appeared, like those Star Trek transporter things did for Captain Kirk and Spock, in our midst.
Four dogs, each with an ample dose of Excessive Greeting Disorder, and they just trotted along. No warning. No "HELLO!! There's a Large, Overhaul-wearing, Pudgy, Forty-year-old Good Ol' Boy approaching! Be on the look out!"
He just appeared, walked right in our group, and stayed there for a couple of blocks.
Tracey started the giggling, I swear it was her.
Life is grand.
hug your hounds