These walks have become a sanctuary. Is this life not so amazingly, incredibly difficult? He pesters me for days about a photograph from her, that in a flash of insight I realize could have been replicated right here at home. This is the definition of insanity is it not? This. And how another person’s crazy can spill over onto you, like the movie Bug.
He walks close at my knee, while she walks ahead, or more, runs, jumps, leaps and twirls ahead. I let her, we two are old, and prefer the solitude and serenity of this. One lap becomes two becomes three. He rubs his cheek against my leg, she bites at me. But without this she would be impossible.
I am impossible.
I mean it. I am unsoothable. Beyond help.
I fall asleep with a book on my chest and wake to her velvet nose on my neck. Nuzzling me.
Maybe not completely inconsolable.