Sherry on the Street

So, I ran into Sherry on the street corner today. It was a classic meeting, actually. I was coming one way, she was coming another, and two women—one walking a rather spritely basset hound and one a kind of bright-eyed collie-like friend—from the other two directions. We all ran into one another at the corner. The dogs tangled their leashes nicely, I saw Sherry, and then we were talking to one another, and to the collie-ish pup.

Sherry was Oz's dog sitter, and builds her life around dogs. She thinks nothing of having a house full of dogs, and grills chicken for her dogs literally every night.

I filled her in on Oz's last days, and she let me know one of her dogs had torn an ligament. She was pricing surgeries, and trying to decide…and the first five minutes, the black and white hound was pressing up against me, cuddling in against my legs, and, for reasons known only to dogs, smelling my keys. A few gentle licks landed on my chin.

It was nice, but kind of like…well, not getting what you want. He was a fine dog, and I was happy to charm and shelter him, but…yeah.

Greg