Walks With Lily: A (Slow) Moving Meditation
Depending on her mood, Lily will either greet me in the morning by checking her body into my bed or by panting like a serial killer from the other end of the room. I put on my best sports bra and hit the town with my main bitch who dons a tight jerry curl.
We descend down the hill to the middle school where dog-walking is strictly prohibited. Then, we wind around the field where I used to waddle as a useless defenseman for our recreation soccer team. It is here that she defecates, locking her olive eyes with mine, just as steady as she goes.
I often contemplate the psychology behind this stare down, seeking rationale for such intimacy during her routine poo-formance. Is it a power play? Is she seeking Freudian approval? Or am I just her bathroom reading material?
From here, we stroll past a basketball court that is normally buzzing with children. In a tender moment last week, Lily and I watched as a father cheered for his son who rode on two wheels for the first time. One might have heard the faint tick of my biological clock before it was swept away with the wind.
Our reflections pass by in the windows of the band room where I received a rich sax education. Lily puppy prances up a mossy hill through her arthritis to fertilize to lawn of our neighbor whose livelihood thrives on weed whacking and watering his pristine driveway.
We gently return home where Lily recovers on the couch until her mother comes home.
In the evening we ascend a different hill towards a water tower, our town’s Leaning Tower of Suburbia. This landmark is the most interesting thing to be seen barring the occasional drug dealer exchange. However, one night an elderly woman wrapped in a sari flagged us down to make our acquaintance in front of her apartment,
Yes, this was my dog. Yes, I graduated college.
Yes, I still lived at home with my parents.
“How many years did you study?” she wondered aloud as Lily sniffed at her feet.
“Ah, and what do you do? Are you a doctor, a lawyer, an accountant?”
“I’m a writer. I write… things.”
The fire in her eyes extinguished and she tousled the fluff atop of Lily’s dome.
“A writer,” she pondered. “...That’s all?”
Yes, I write and take long walks with my dog.