I walked our dog, Eddie, for the first time by myself on Monday. And then on Wednesday and this morning, because for the last eighteen months these are the days of the week when I walk in City Park with my two friends and their dogs. I befriended E and I when we all evacuated to Houston for four months. The regularity of these forty minute walks gives us a chance to keep up with the small and big stuff that's going on i.e. recent purchases, pounds gained, aches and pains, our (lively) teenage sons, sick parents, funeral arrangements. They are like my sisters, but unarmed; we only know each other from August 2005, so our back stories have no witnesses, no other versions, which makes these friendships feel kind of clean, considerate, and free roaming. I watch how they walk their dogs so I can learn how to handle mine. And I know that if a dog runs up to Eddie with bared teeth, they'll know how to quiet the danger.

Eddie's twelve and 80 lbs., a sweet chocolate Lab with a gray muzzle, tender eyes, and puppy energy. Malcolm showed me how to keep him on my left. (We took a practice walk together on Sunday.) "You're going to get attached to him, and he's old," he cautioned me, but I'm good with this late start at understanding dog love, how to receive his and show mine. I already miss him when we walk, and make him sit so I can pet his neck and take in his kindness, his patience with me for waiting so long to walk him.