Each night as I sit in our living room, typing, clicking, or *gasp!*, having old-fashioned parlor talk with the Mister, I hear the gravel-y walk of the neighbors with the crippled dog. And it's such a soothing sound.
It starts near the kitchen, and gets more audible as they make their nightly walk around our corner with Brutus, who had been hit by a car when he was just a young dog. I love listening to their pace, and how their feet purposefully hit the pavement. They don't shuffle. They don't drag. I'm amazed at their fortitude, their selflessness of giving up vacations and building a special wheelchair for their dog. I watch them sometimes carry him up their front steps, gently guiding his back end into the house. It's sweet and reminds me of the little boy we always see at the park who's just learning to walk, his wobbly legs collapsing as his grandfather holds him to the ground.
So that's what I'm thinking about tonight, in between working on "real" stuff. Just thought I'd share.