An Evening Walk Home

  I was walking home from the library this evening, the uneven city sidewalk pavement always gives me trouble. When you walk with a cane you’re frequently looking down to make sure you don’t fall. It makes me feel older than I am, but I’ve felt that way for a long time.  The shadows of the bare trees grew longer as the sun sank lower behind buildings and the air got colder, but the sky was still clear blue.
The city where I live has some very nice parks and I stopped to watch a man who was playing fetch with his dog. I don’t know the breed, medium size with black and white markings. 
I’ve always been a ‘dog person.’ My ex-wife and I were drawn to the boxer breed and during the course of our time together we had two. Sophie, who was Jessica’s dog, developed hip dysplasia and had to be put down when she was about eleven years old. We mourned like we had lost a child, and in a way we had. After a few years we got Maggie as a puppy and she was definitely my dog. “A boy and his dog,” Jessica would say because Maggie was never far from me when I was home and she would follow me wherever I went. Maggie died, in my arms, of heart problems when she was eight years old. Again, we mourned like we had lost a child.
I stood and watched the man and the dog. The dog would bring the ball to the man and then wait for the man to throw the ball again, his body tensed as he waited and looked back over his shoulder looking at the man, smiling, (anyone who tells you dogs can’t smile is a liar and not to be trusted) as if to say “Come on, dad, throw the ball so I can run fast and get it and bring it back to you and make you happy and tell me I’m a good boy!” 
I watched the man and the dog for a while longer and then started towards home again. I thought of the games of fetch Maggie and I had played in our backyard, years ago and I missed her terribly. The sun was low in the sky at this point and I really didn’t need them but I put on my sunglasses anyway so no one could see me cry.