Miss Izzy and I went out tonite to walk under the clear night sky. The sickle of the Big Dipper hung over us, and a waxing gibbous moon meeting up with Jupiter. And there was a Nighthawk sweeping thru the air high above the parking lot lights.
She and I slowly made our way to the soccer fields, around the gravel elementary school track and around the middle school track that they resurfaced last fall and is so spongey to walk on. Izzy found many excuses to take many detours.
Miss Izzy, does Mr. Guinness tell you about his running days, when he and I would go out to the lake? Does he tell you these things as he raises his head from his slumber when you get back from a long walk like this? Does he whisper his stories into your ears when he greets you?
He was a fine running buddy. Although perpetually distracted by everything at walking speed, when we would start running, his ears would lie back against his head, and he would run faithfully beside me, barely flinching at the other dogs and runners we passed. Does he tell you that? Does he tell you about how he would go for five miles with me and how one time he ran the seven mile loop?
Oh, those were the days, Miss Izzy, when he and I would go out there for a run around the lake and make this long walk of ours look like the child’s play that it is. I think we could do better than this, Miss Izzy — for Mr. Guinness’s sake. Ask him; see what he thinks.