After I’ve brushed off the last of the Coarsegold burrs I take Walter for a walk. He’s a town dog now, must be respectable and wait while I remove his poop from the neighbor’s gravel yard.
This morning he shivered afraid of trucks sliding to work down Riverhill Drive . I didn’t realize Riverhill connects Bandera & Medina Highways so now I’ll stick to traipsing over vacant lots and sleepy cul-de-sacs where it looks like no one lives.
Tonight I kiss John goodbye at the door like a real suburban housewife. He’s off to San Antonio
The white Marquis limo pulls silently away as Walter and I begin our walk. Only one noisy, unidentifiable bird squawks at us.
Heading back two neighbors are leaving. It’s recently widowed Bobby and his daughter Jennifer. Walter lunges toward them and they let him lick their fingers - his weathered, her French nailed.
“I worked in obedience training eighteen years,” Bobby says, “they called me The Dog Whisperer”.
“Long before the one on TV,” Jennifer finishes and sure enough within seconds Bobby has the leash and Walter is sitting, basking in the attention.
“We’re dog people” Jennifer says. “My babies are inside.”
We chat for several minutes. Behind us in a grove of trees the herd of local deer graze. They’re so much smaller and more dainty than our California Mule Deer. Walter doesn’t give them a second look.
Walking the last four houses back home Walter remains calm, head high and I praise him, tell him what a good dog he’s been today, his third day in Texas.
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