Our late night errand to the store to pick up dishwashing detergent is not going as well as I'd like - the dog, completely confused as to why we would need to go anywhere but home after she's done peeing, keeps looping around behind me and trying to head back the way we came.
At the crosswalk, a young woman in a black, flowy blouse falls in step with us while she smokes her cigarette, and watches in a amusement as I encourage Coco to step it up.
"Come on, all the cool dogs are doing it," she chimes in. "With that face, you could be running the Iditarod, and I'm not the only one who's said so."
One year ago: Priorities
Two years ago: Something Shifted
Three years ago: If They Can Ignore Spring, What Chance Have You Got?
Four years ago: Her Friends Were Nice, But I Needed Maté
Eight years ago: 5/21/09 - Defeated, For Now
Nine years ago: 5-21-08 Picky, picky