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The Postscript: Daisy crosses the street

 


My desk faces the window and that is where I spend most of my time.

I spend about as much time at my desk as I do in my bed which is, conveniently located about 30 feet away. It’s a pretty short commute and there’s rarely traffic. Occasionally, my husband Peter might be coming or going from the bathroom, but that’s about it.

Once a day, I take a walk in the woods but the rest of my time is spent sitting at my window. My life used to seem kind of odd — and sometimes a little lonely — but it appears I was a trendsetter. Now, it seems, everyone is working from home.

I read how different people like to orient their workspace in different directions and how this says something about us. There are apparently people who can’t stand the idea of having their back facing traffic (as I do) I guess because they worry someone might sneak up behind them. (Peter is not that sneaky.)

There are people who like to be in the middle of the room and others who like pinning down a corner. I like to face the window and see out as far as I can — which isn’t all that far, but I can see the sidewalk on both sides of the street and that keeps me entertained all day.

Mostly, it’s dogs I am watching and lately there have been more to watch.

People are walking their dogs as never before. I am sure the dogs are puzzled and delighted. Whereas it used to be this chore that was done quickly early in the morning or late at night, (“Come on, Rex, let’s get this over with!”) Now more walks are happening in the middle of the day and, as often as not, the whole family comes along and makes an event out of it.

Happy dogs are leading the pack with mom, dad and a couple of kids in tow. The dog is saying, “This is so great! Everyone came on my walk with me!”

One dog in particular I’ve been watching for lately. Her name is Daisy, and she’s an old dog. Her owner comes jogging by himself at mid-day. He doesn’t run fast, but he runs too fast for Daisy so, later in the day, he goes for a walk with Daisy. Daisy is very stiff. She stops a lot. She spends a lot of time sniffing things. (I’m pretty sure she’s just resting when she does this.) I watch for Daisy every day, making her slow progress down the sidewalk.

Yesterday, I just couldn’t help myself. Daisy and her owner were walking by on the far side of the street. I went downstairs and called out, “Daisy! How are you, Daisy?” Daisy froze in her tracks. Daisy’s vision isn’t that great but her hearing is fine.

To my surprise, Daisy’s owner unclipped her leash.

Daisy slowly made her way across the deserted street and over to my side of the sidewalk.

“Hey, Daisy!” I said, when she finally made it. I led her gray muzzle and she licked my hands. I looked across the street to her owner. He’s a quiet, retired fellow.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thanks for letting Daisy say, ‘hello.’”

“No problem,” he said.

“How’re you doing?” I asked.

“We’re doing fine,” he told me.

“We are, too,” I said.

“You better go now, Daisy.” And Daisy crossed the street again to her owner.

As the arthritic dog limped back across the street, I no longer felt I was alone at all.

Till next time,

Carrie

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Carrie Classon is married to Havre native Peter Heimdahl. Her memoir, “Blue Yarn: A Memoir About Loss, Letting Go, & What Happens Next,” was published in 2019 Learn more at https://www.carrieclasson.com .

 

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