A man walks his dog every day.
The dog enjoys their route well enough. The same 3 miles never seem to get old and the dog has spots that always get marked. The telephone pole next to the broken down school bus, the mailbox in front of the painted brick house on the corner, the fire hydrant on the backside of the long curve. Sometimes a house is renovated, sometimes one is split in two. There’s just enough novelty to get the benefits of familiarity without it getting stale.
Of course, the man hates novelty.
The dog always gets excited when they round the corner into their alley, which he named after the dog. One time a city inspector told him to take down the sign, claiming navigation issues for ambulances, then went on about some other assessment issue. He smiled patiently, thanked the city inspector for the notice, and kept on with his walk.
That was ages ago.
The dog hates the man’s son and urinated on the nice SUV on the way up the driveway. It’s been parked there more often lately. It has a bunch of tools in the back. Brand new new-brand tools. He has plenty of tools in his shed, although he hasn’t inventoried them in awhile. He reached for the handrail on his way up the stairs and lost his balance off the edge.
The man’s son was there to catch him.
The dog retreated to safety in his spot at the foot of the man’s bed - can’t fit on the bed since he downgraded to a twin - and started chewing on his bone. The house is both incredibly dusty and immaculately ordered, an odd combination of scrupulosity and neglect. Except, of course, King James. On the counter is a rotting bundle of figs; the man’s son brought them last time.
Or was it the time before?
The dog growled at the sound of a loud car, its engine popping as it drove by. At least it would probably be the last time the dog had to deal with that noise. The man loaded the crate into the SUV and took one last look.
He made his son promise to keep up the sign.