Learning to Walk an Old Dog

It was 45 degrees and drizzling, and I tucked my six-pound shivering Chihuahua, Chibi, into my coat. Wren and George, twice her size, were on leash, jacketed, game for the street.

The rain started the minute I shut the door. I wanted to go back inside, but Wren and George had other ideas. We went to the green space nearby, where they gamboled off-leash, chasing robins and smelling the wet grass.

When my hat soaked through and Chibi disappeared completely into my raincoat, I clicked the leash on George and whistled for Wren. She turned her head but then started to trot away from me, faster than I knew she could. On new pain meds for shoulder arthritis, she was quick and full of the devil.

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