In my old life, before babies, I used to go to the local shops about twice a year, and I would never walk around the neighbourhood. I did my shopping along the route from work to home or at my closest market, and I used my bike as a means of transport rather than as the instrument of aimless meanderings. In fact I rarely walked at all, preferring to ride my bike right up to my destination, or take the bus when distances were prohibitive. Now I take the babies for a walk for about an hour every evening, for their benefit as well as my own, and I am enjoying the change. Between five and six is the time when they are most tired, so it’s an easy as well as a pleasant activity and gives me a bit of exercise in the day. I wander along taking a different route each time, exploring my neighbourhood, and I walk for as long as I feel like, without taking a watch to keep me in check. I follow the butterflies, I feel the breeze against my skin, and I press my face against the rose petals.
I also have a good look at the neighbours’ gardens. I call it ‘appreciating the botanical and architectural aesthetics of my surroundings.’ Steve calls it ‘rubbernecking.’
One day recently however, my uneventful perambulations took on a different character. Maggie, my twin sister and I, were walking back pushing the babies, and two blocks from home, we took a short detour just for something different to do. A woman called out from a driveway.
– ‘Hello. Do you live around here?’
I said that I did. As I got closer I could see that she was holding a small white long-haired dog and another similar one was running around behind her.
She asked whether we had seen the dogs before as she had found them running on the road without a collar.
By coincidence I had noticed some similar dogs a few streets away on my walk the day before, so I offered to take her there. Not being a dog lover, I tentatively held the dog while she caught the other one and put a lead on it, then we set off, her taking the dog back from me and tucking it under her arm while leading the other dog by the lead. She explained that she was driving home from work and had stopped when she saw the dogs. She had been able to catch them because she always kept a couple of dog leads in the car in case of just such eventualities. She was on her way to a hairdressing appointment. ‘That’s not going to happen now, is it.’
She was middle aged, generously proportioned and bottle blond and she tottered along in her wedge high-heeled shoes. Her government identification card swung from its elastic band around her neck and I wondered whether we should introduce ourselves. On balance, and because my name is a bit unusual and introductions can be a bit of an effort, I decided not to.
We reached the house where I thought I had seen the dogs and we both strode purposefully up to the door and knocked. Someone called for us to come in. I opened the door and peered in to the dark interior where I could make out two young men and an older woman of middle eastern appearance. Another small dog shot out like a chicken from a chicken coop, this one grey.
– ‘Are these your dogs?’ , asked the woman we had been accompanying. ‘I found them on the street.’
The young men emerged holding bottles of beer and cigarettes. It was immediately apparent that they were drunk. The old woman followed her dog and attempted to coax it back inside.
– ‘Nah, they’re not our dogs. I think they’re Sam’s though, just a few houses down. I’ll take youse there if ya like.’
They approached a little unsteadily and one of them offered to take one of the dogs. He picked it up then absently dropped it and the woman we had been walking with looked alarmed.
We exchanged looks. She could see that the men were drunk. She wanted to get to her appointment but was balancing that with her concern for the dogs’ welfare. We all set off after the drunk men, one of whom had a precarious hold on one of the dogs. A few doors down, one of the men assured us, Sam was definitely the owner.
He called out as we approached the house. The house had a ramp that I had always fancied to be like a small drawbridge, with a big pine tree shading a large proportion of the garden. Sam didn’t appear to be much more sober than his neighbours, and it was only just six o’clock. No, he hadn’t lost any dogs. Was he sure? Yes. He ambled out and there was further discussion about who might be the owner.
There seemed to be the glimmer of a network of people who all knew each other, maybe because they were more connected to their surroundings than I was, or maybe because they were all dog owners. It was at this point that my sister and I bowed out. The roving circus didn’t need any more followers and there was nothing more we could add. We left the woman, two dogs and three men conferencing in the front yard.
Who knew you could have such adventures out and about in your own neighbourhood.
If I ever find out what happened to the dogs, I’ll let you know.
