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.