Keeping up with the Neighbor?

It was cold for Georgia.  Bitterly cold.  I had just enough daylight to take Abby for a walk.  She greeted me at the front door and I quickly shoved a couple of bags into my pockets and attached the leash to her collar, hoping that the other dogs wouldn't notice.  No such luck.  I looked down to see Charlie at my feet.  I shoved him into his Sherpa coat and found his leash.  Chase hadn't woken and I pushed both out the door.  

Abby and Charlie froze on the pathway.  The cold penetrated their paws.  Undaunted I pulled both across the front lawn, grass crunching beneath my boots.  Charlie sat down refusing to budge.  I looked back at the front windows.  Chase still hadn't realized we were outside and I wanted to keep it that way.  Three dogs were difficult to walk on my own.  I plucked Charlie from the grass and tucked him under my left arm like a football.  I yanked Abby's leash and managed to set the pace as we reached the sidewalk.  I was determined to walk these dogs, even if that meant carrying a twenty-pound oversized dachshund the entire trip.

Three doors down I saw the male occupant of the house poking around the trunk of his car.  Holding back my first thoughts that he had a body in it, I quickened my pace and avoided eye contact.  I hadn't seen his wife in a while, after all.  Reflexively I did a side eye in his direction.  He was no longer in the trunk.  He was now leaned against it and wantonly stared at me.  To be fair, all three of us were dressed in a cacophony of colors.  I was in a burgundy plaid wool jacket with bits of my pink puffy vest visible, Abby was in a bright blue American Apparel retro hoodie and Charlie's beige Sherpa coat oozed out from under my arm like rising bread dough.  I practiced speed walking until I was at the end of the street and out of view.  

I was mildly annoyed.  No other neighbor was outside on this blustery winter day and serial killers really ought to clean out their trunks after midnight under the cover of darkness.  I crossed the street to the library and Charlie kicked me, the signal that he was willing to walk on his own.  We did the usual walk but cut it short and returned to the neighborhood on the opposite side of the street.  I hoped the neighbor had retreated to the comfort of his own home.  No such luck.  Not only was he in his front yard, he had one pint sized Bichon Frise tucked under his left arm, clearly copying my earlier style, and was tossing a ball to his other Bichon Frise.  I was surprised because I thought that this was a one-dog household.  Both sets of canine eyes followed our sidewalk movements and the neighbor paused the ball tossing.  Charlie and Abby watched the neighbor as I led them briskly away.

Charlie and Abby were eager to return to the house and I was equally happy to be inside, doors locked and safe from any neighbor who was trying to keep up with the canines from three doors down.

Up in the Tree Tops

The Tree Top Walkway at Kew Gardens sounded beautiful.  The Englishman and I were in the gardens for the entire day and I was determined to find it.  This took a lot of effort because even with the map of the expansive Victorian gardens, I seemed to be the one navigating.  Map reader I am not. Directionally challenged to perfection, unable to distinguish left from right unless I form an "L" with my left hand, I still clutched the map with no assistance from the Englishman.  

Eventually we stumbled upon the rusted steel structure.  After climbing 118 stairs, I gingerly stood upon the platform and looked down through the holes in the flooring.  The Englishman bounced ahead, pointing out birds, flora and fauna in the tree tops.  I followed carefully behind him, feeling a bit ill and counting the missing rivets in the pathway.  It was a long way down.  The metal was really rusty. I was unimpressed with the "rustic" description in my guide book.  The Englishman turned around and watched as I cautiously stood on the metal frame between two panels.  I tapped the tip of my shoe on the panel in front, testing it's stability.  The Englishman laughed and hopped like a rabbit over the next several panels.  I could feel the structure sway.  "Where is the inspection plate?" I asked him.  "Aren't they required to have one?"  I was too far to turn around so I had no choice but to proceed forward.  I weighed the option of running or crawling and decided to stick with my toe tapping method to ensure that each panel was safe to stand on.  I didn't take a single picture.  I didn't dare.

We finally reached the stairs and elevator.  I opted for the elevator and quickly stepped inside the enclosed chamber. The Englishman asked me why I bothered to climb all the way to the top to bird watch when all I did was look down? I responded with my own question, "Where is the safety inspection plate in the elevator?".  There wasn't one.  The Englishman sighed and the elevator jerked and swayed as it slowly creeped down.  I was grateful when we reached the bottom and I realized that I didn't need to have my head in the clouds.  I simply appreciated being grounded.