The New Man

There's a tall man who I often see walking around. He lives in the group home five houses away. We always have a little chat when I see him on my dog-walking outings. He'll say what a pretty dog and lean down and pet Honey as if he's never seen her before. This has gone on for years. Yesterday he said, "What kind of brown is she?" I said chocolate. "Chocolate, hmm." I said you mean what kind of dog is she? "No, what kind of brown is she?" I said she becomes a reddish brown in the summer sun. Her tail is a bit redder. He looked and agreed. Then I thought of ladies' hair colors. I said she's a chestnut brown. "Ahh yes!" He liked that.

I have seen this man for years, and every day is new for him. I'm not sure what is going on with him but he is always friendly and fun to talk to. "I love the color of your shirt," I said, admiring the pale pumpkin corduroy. "I don't know where it came from," he said. I wondered what he meant. "Okay," he said, "I've got to have my walk, my exercise, then I'll come back and have a good hearty breakfast of milk and cereal." I said it always tastes better after a walk doesn't it? Like a sandwich tasting better at the beach. "Yes it's true," he said. I was hoping we'd walk together a bit longer but he stopped at the light and pressed the walk button to cross in the other direction.