Three of our neighbors have dogs – they are Bella, yellow lab, Pebble Beach (Pebbles), chocolate lab, and a male springer spaniel mix named Buddy. When I go out to pick up the paper in the early morning, they are sometimes running free. They bound over barking wildly and if I were not a dog person, I might be taken aback. But when they reach me they are all wagging tails and bodies and panting and laughing their doggie laughs. So I scratch their ears and make nice and then they run off, chasing each other.

Yesterday morning Buddy and friends were gamboling about. It was about 9:30 and I was starting out to walk. The weather is a lot nicer these days and it wasn’t too hot. The doggies ran over to me and I gave them hugs and scratches and then Buddy noticed two walkers and a biker down the road and thought oh boy, more ear scratches and bounded after them and Sheila, Buddy’s mommy called in vain but Buddy had to have his sprint.

The biker was Lorraine, a friend about my age, who is friends with my sis and b.i.l. She is more than a little prissy, afraid of almost everything, once had a basel cell skin cancer and ever since, even in 100 degree weather, bikes in a long sleeved blazer, wears a head scarf tied neatly under her chin, and long pants because you can’t be too careful. I am constantly amazed that she hasn’t died of fright before this and have said of her that before she can form a sentence, she must be thoroughly watered. Buddy bounded up to her, tail wagging, practically saying “love me” in doggy talk. She was stopped, feet on the pavement, talking to the other two, the walkers. She shrank back, crying “Get that dog away from me,” in that shaky but firm tonal quality used by some of our older citizens when they feel threatened. I do voices. Sorry you can’t hear my take on this. Sheila came up and got her dog and Lorraine, whined on to me that the dogs shouldn’t be running free and you’d think they could use a leash, tut tut and blah blah and “Well I never …” The walkers, also older women although not as prissy as Lorraine, agreed with her. And I said these dogs are pretty friendly and are not biters. Lorraine said, “Wellll, you just can’t ever te-ullll,” almost wagging a finger to emphasize.” I said, “Yes you can. I can tell.” In a low aside, I told Sheila to ignore her because she was a total fuck. She appreciated my candor. About the only complaint I ever had is that sometimes one will poop on our lawn. That drives Ed up the wall because he cleans it up, but he still likes the dogs.

I dearly wish I could tell my sis that her friend is an a.. h... but if my b.i.l. is there, he'll tell her and I don't need that. The truth is, he probably agrees with me, but it pleases him to surround himself with sycophants and Lorraine is one of them.

I continued over the bridge to the mainland and stopped at Sue, the tailor lady, and hung out there. It was a quiet morning. We were not interrupted, and we shared tales of derring do for about an hour. In order to do this, I skipped my morning park routine so will make up for it later. I think. I was also telling Sue that when I was barely 20, I had dated a fellow, 32, who started out being kind and generous and caring and turned into a belittling, petty tyrant in the three years we were together. He said we could be engaged but I should tell no one. You get the picture. He finally dumped me for an older man with money. I had already guessed he was probably bisexual but, you may not believe this, he was only just finding out. Anyway, easy come, easy go. It was an “I shudda said” moment. I still wish I had the chance for a do-over of that particular parting.

Meanwhile, I am, until Monday morning, stopping by Nadine’s, aces friend, twice a day and checking on and putting out food and water for Ziggy (short for Ziegfeld) her kitty while she is visiting her son and d.i.l. and various grandchildren in Gainesville. She is taking a Halloween costume for Inca, the younger daughter – a huge Mad Hatter’s hat that she made – it is perfect, and a frock coat with tails to match, and a different huge hat for Eli, her biological grandson depicting another character from the tea party. Her son, who is a consultant, is due back in Afghanistan next week. It gives her (and me) chills to think of him being in that kind of environment, but he loves his work.

Ziggy lets me pet him – he is a very pale creamsicle tabby and doesn’t have a meow. He lets himself in and out of the house onto the patio through a pet door and sometimes he doesn’t come down but today he did. I was in the rec room below, filling his water bowl when I heard a door creaking – that was Ziggy. His meow sounds like a door creaking – squeak, squeak.

Squeak, Teal