I took a walk tonight.
That’s not unusual. I’ve been taking walks a couple of times a day for the past 12 years. Tonight, though, I didn’t have my companion of those 12 years, my little dog Sadie.
It felt different. It was different. My own walking gait depended on Sadie’s short legs, her investigation of grass and bushes and poles and fire hydrants. Her gait had slowed in the past year, but she still loved the walks we took.
I did too. It was just Sadie and me. No music or podcasts or phone calls. I liked listening to the rhythm of the neighborhood in the seasons, paying attention to flowers and grass and houses and people walking their dogs.
During the pandemic, it seemed like freedom to be outside walking, carefully crossing the street when another person approached.
I said goodbye to Sadie just a few days ago. I miss her presence and the punctuation she added to my life — time to take her out, to feed her, to take her for a walk.
I took a path tonight that Sadie loved, a little bit longer walk. My gait was unsteady, unused to no stops except at street corners. My hand felt empty without the leash.
I’m glad I went for that walk. But I don’t think I’ll ever walk around the neighborhood and not wish I could be with Sadie for one more stroll.
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