At the end of Nathalie’s leash was a soft and fluffy Wheaten Terrier named Roxy, wagging her tail as she went. Roxy was walking at a steady pace, matching her owner’s gait, staying right by her side. Or, more accurately, slightly ahead. Roxy would start just at Nat’s side, but as they got further along their route, Roxy would get just a pinch of excitement and walk in front of Nat, but not too much.

It was a crisp winter day. It had snowed last week, and while there were a few piles still left in some people’s yards, the snow had mostly melted. Today, however, the morning grass was covered in a frost of icy dew. To Nat, the yards looked like they were covered in a dusting of sugar. Nat looked down at Roxy, “Maybe I’ll make some cinnamon rolls today. But none for you girl. Hope you like the smell though.”

The pair turned around a corner in their flat neighborhood, just past a four-way intersection that connected their block to the wider neighborhood system. Soon, on their right, would be a small playground, just past a narrow patch of woods. Roxy picked up her pace, just a pinch more, and pulled her tail in tight. 

Here, on this stretch of their walk, made the extent of the weather so much easier to grasp, as long stretches of grass were left open. Nat wasn’t sure if they were just large yards, or just unsold properties, but either way, both sides of the street were wide open on either side, and just sparsely dotted with houses. Here, Nat felt alone, felt cold, felt tight. Nathalie pulled up her zipper just a bit more, up to the top of her neck, and then pulled tight on the drawstrings of her hood. 

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