Each morning as I drive in the near dark through a ritzy part of the city on my way to work, I see a woman who I assume is a housekeeper in one of the neighborhood homes. Beside her, wandering freely, is an older, slightly chunky black lab. Although it's too dark to know for sure, I am almost positive he is male. It's just a feeling I have. He never gets too far from her, and she just plugs along beside him, taking advantage of this exercise time for herself as well. They have begun to feel like old friends to me.
About two weeks ago they were out there, but something had changed. He was still wandering; she was still walking. But now a small light seemed to go before the dog wherever he went. It wasn't a reflector catching my car lights; I knew that. This was something different. Curious about it, I slowed down to see...and laughed out loud. Now the lab has begun to carry a flashlight in his mouth, undoubtedly trained to do so as a safety measure. He is sniffing, roaming, foraging and all while the beam of the flashlight dances along in front of him - almost like Tinkerbell with Peter Pan. It never fails to make me smile.
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