7/1/10

Walking the Dog
By Elizabeth M. Thurmond


Caroline pulled her coat tighter around her and looped Fluffy’s leash
around her wrist. It was chilly for late September, at this time of
day especially. In the pale 6am light of an overcast day, the
neighborhood even looked cold, all washed out and grey. The building
on the corner with turrets and diamond-paned windows, grey on the very
brightest of days, squatted malevolently behind its landscaping; the
more colorful apartments up the street just looked tired. Much like
Caroline herself... it had been ages since she felt energized about
anything.

The weather wasn’t entirely to blame, although the recent lack of
sunlight was making it more difficult for her to drag herself out of
bed at Fluffy’s insistent barking. Walking the dog was good exercise,
though, and that was definitely something she needed with all the
hours she was logging behind a desk. Her steady stream of assignments
was definitely a good thing, but if she could take a break without
compromising her income, she would do it in a heartbeat.

There just wasn’t much interesting going on lately. She tried to
remember the last time she had had something exciting happen, and the
first thing that came to mind was coaxing her neighbor’s cat Howie out
of a tree. I live such a glamorous life, she thought, kneeling to do
her poop-scooping duty while Fluffy tugged insistently on the leash.

“Calm down,” she said, giving the leash a gentle tug as she rose.
“What do you...”

“...see?” died on her lips as she realized what Fluffy had spotted:
another dog, a great grey wolfhound, loping along ahead of a man
around her own age. She had never seen either man or dog before... she
definitely would have remembered him. He was about six-two, long and
lanky, with messy brown hair and – she gasped as he glanced up at her,
making eye contact for a fraction of a second – intense dark brown
eyes. A frisson ran up her spine; in that instant she imagined what it
would be like to be the recipient of his sustained gaze and felt her
neck and ears grow hot. Nodding politely as he passed, she redirected
Fluffy’s attention from a flowerbed and continued on her walk.

All day, when she got stuck on her work and allowed her mind to
wander, her thoughts wandered back to the man with the dog. Was he new
in the neighborhood? Straying from his usual route? Would he be out
again tomorrow? These persistent imaginings urged her from bed far
more willingly the next morning, and kept her out longer than Fluffy
usually needed. Her little Pomeranian was dragging a bit by the time
the wolfhound appeared, about ten feet ahead of his drowsy-eyed
master. The man was obviously only half awake, yawning loudly and
stumbling a little when the dog picked up speed. They were on the
opposite side of the street, and turned the corner just ahead, so
Caroline didn’t have a chance to speak. Not, she thought as she
scooped Fluffy up to carry him home, that she would know what to say.
This was her primary verbal failing; once you got her started she was
very talkative, but when faced with a sexy man, she was generally
reduced to monosyllables.

The next day, she managed to do her hair instead of pulling it into a
messy ponytail, and even put on lipstick, but Sexy Man was nowhere to
be found. Fluffy was panting by the time they returned home, and
Caroline kicked herself for not speaking that first day. Was Sexy Man
gone for good?

Apparently not; the next morning there he was, stumbling along behind
his dog. Again he was on the other side of the street, thus precluding
her saying hello – or saving her from it, she wasn’t sure which. What
was she supposed to say – “Nice dog!” “Come here often?”

As Caroline was staring – Fluffy, forgotten at the other end of the
leash, was happily digging in a flower bed – Sexy Man looked up and
smiled.

Uh-oh. Busted. Oh my God he has an amazing smile. Caroline suddenly
forgot how to breathe. It took her a full second to remember she
should smile back. Which she did, weakly, with Fluffy throwing up dirt
all around her unheeded.

Sexy Man continued on his way, and Caroline returned to her senses,
realizing what her dog had been doing. Heaving a sigh, she picked
Fluffy up, smoothed the dirt over with her foot, and moved on. A smile
wasn’t exactly “I love you, marry me,” but in her perpetually dateless
state it was the best she’d gotten in some time.

Halfway through the afternoon, the thought occurred to her that he
might have been smiling at Fluffy’s misbehavior, not out of
dog-walking camaraderie. She knew he couldn’t have been smiling out of
being struck by her beauty – she cleaned up very well, if she did say
so herself, but at 6am she looked like three miles of bad road.
Sighing, she tried to focus on her computer screen.

Three more mornings elicited no more than a couple of smiles. They
were up to acknowledging each other, that was something, she supposed.
But she had smiling-and-nodding relationships with neighbors she’d had
for three years. Something had to give, and it might as well be her to
break the ice. If he was new to the neighborhood he might welcome a
long-term resident telling him all the details and secrets of the
neighborhood. But how could she do that without it sounding like a
line? Which, she couldn’t kid herself, it totally was a line, but it
couldn’t seem that way. She had to think.

By the time it was time for Fluffy’s evening walk, she had mentally
scripted several possible conversations. As she strolled along in the
dark waiting for Fluffy to do his business, she rehearsed her possible
opening remarks in her head. “Nice dog... you guys new in town?” was
the best she’d come up with, so she had to make it sound natural.

She had progressed to speaking the lines out loud (though under her
breath) when she heard footsteps behind her and suddenly, WHUMP!
Something large knocked her over and into a bush.

Fumbling for her pepper spray and cursing her infatuation with Sexy
Man for compromising her ordinarily constant vigilance, she was
certain she was about to be mugged or worse when a voice said, “I’m so
sorry, are you okay?”

Caroline looked up into the eyes of Sexy Man, whose dog was sniffing
at a wary Fluffy. Sexy Man held out his hand. Dazed, she accepted the
help back to her feet. “I... um... thank you,” she said, dusting
herself off.

“Thor's really friendly, but he doesn’t know his own strength.”

Caroline looked down at the massive dog, who had decided Fluffy wasn’t
interesting enough to eat. “He’s a big fella.” A word with two
syllables. This was progress.

“Do you live around here? I see you every morning.”

“Yeah, just up the street.”

“I just moved one block down. Michael.” He held out a hand. She
blinked for a moment, processing this information, then shook it.

“Caroline. That’s Fluffy.”

“Is he the destroyer of worlds?”

She laughed; they knew the same internet memes, at least. “No, but
sofa cushions quake in fear.”

Their conversation was brief, but somehow – Caroline wasn't sure how,
she was operating on autopilot – ended with plans for a playdate for
the two dogs, who by now had moved on from sniffing warily to chasing
each other around their owners' legs. “Looks like Fluffy wants a
playmate,” Michael observed as Fluffy hopped gleefully around his
feet.

Caroline agreed; like dog, like owner, she thought, her heart
skipping a beat at the twinkle in Michael's eyes. As she turned to go,
she reached over, scratched Thor behind the ears, and whispered,
“Thanks, buddy.” Things were starting to look up.


- - -
Elizabeth M. Thurmond lives in Los Angeles with two roommates and more
books than are strictly necessary. Like most Angelenos, she has a
screenplay in the works, but she doesn't really want to direct. She
can be found on the Web at www.countmystars.com