When relatives visited recently, we spent one sunny afternoon wandering through our small town. My sister-in-law and I donned our big straw hats and joined the family stroll. With Tommy by my side, we meandered along the cobblestone walks lined with shops and cafes.
As usual, Tommy drew interest along the way, about his size, his elegance, his size, his calm demeanor, his size. Various picnickers, other dog walkers, people on park benches said something as we passed.
Once we stepped onto the boardwalk, my son declared, “‘Is that a horse?’ is definitely the most popular.” He’d been counting the comments. “Second is ‘You could put a saddle on him.'” Fifteen minutes into our walk and he’d noted as many equine references. Six more as he was telling us about it.
He continued his tally as the rest of us all paused to gaze out at the boats. The breeze picked up and I reached one hand down to Tommy for balance, the other up to my hat to keep it from blowing off.
From behind, I heard a little girl say, “Mommy, is that a cow girl?”
I smiled and turned to my son. “That one doesn’t count,” I said. “That one had imagination.”