A Walk With A Lady

Ever own a boxer? Consider well the step if you're thinking of it. They grow on you more than any other four-legged friend of man. They'll run your home -- and run you out of all your fond diggin's, such as that easy chair in the parlor where you could always snooze and snore in comfort.

Such a gal is Molly. But we have found a way to regain that favored chair. Just hit the road with her. She's a proud lady who loves to canter, trot, and even more, streak through quiet street and backyards, ever in pursuit of a spitting, squealing tabby.

The wife was gadding somewhere the other night. The stub-tailed canine lady had taken over the easy chair and her so-called master had to squat on the floor, a miserable arrangement that could only be settled by the master donning the topcoat, and wheedling the "moose" into the great outdoors.

Molly's a born stroller. It was a joyous mild Fall late afternoon, nearing twilight. We sauntered up School Street into Pleasant Street. An over-the-shoulder look revealed one of the most spectacular sunsets that has ever blessed us. We don't doubt other locales of the Commonwealth were graced with the same brilliant dip of the earth's savior, but we in Rockport can't help but feel that we provide the best props for the sun and its dipping.

Impressive to us is the extensive amount of rich green moss on the town's trees this year. We noted this on the glorious elms on School near Pleasant Street. We are told that it is most unusual this year. Nope, you can't blame the atomic experiments this time. The power is even much greater. Dame Nature is the guilty babe.

From the burnished browns of Autumn, our good eye spotted a fading touch of summer in a spacious yard. Summer chairs were still outdoors in a School Street yard, indicating that these good folks were still hanging on the season's delights.

By this time, the fleet-footed animal was out of sight on a sniffing expedition through the backyards of our good neighbors. Out of the blue came a scream and a squeal. Author of the squeal was a frantic tabby that had little use for a canine challenge of her right to peaceful existence. The scream was from her lady owner who had less use for any nasty invader of her tabby's privacy.

We imagined a rap on the door by the dog officer with an ominous official complaint. We had to forget the sunset and salvage a dog-goned situation. But a few kind words worked wonders and again we were on the road --intact.

Down the trail on Pleasant Street the sight of two parked bicycles beside a picket fence took us back to the days when our offspring were still bike-riding children. Parents should make the most of those days. They pass all too quickly. They really are among the best years in lives. Adult children are admirable, but they can never come up to the joy quotient derived from the bike age. Those two-wheelers really hit us on this stroll.

The "hearts and flowers" moisture on our bi-focals was rapidly dried by the sudden realization that the boxer was strutting in the middle of the road without thought of cars. After all, she possessed no armored rear. Her chassis was far from dent proof. And her pedigree was no protection. So we descended to the factual with a "Come, Molly, come, Molly--get out of the road!"

The friendly sight of corn husks on front doors, a pleasant symbol of Fall, the encroachment of huge trees on sidewalks, the massive colection of fallen leaves on lawns, all added to the approach of winter on Rockport's Pleasant Street. It was a restful short walk all of you should take to rescue you from that pressure.

We came upon Allan MacLean, who is studying for the Congregational ministry. He has a small English car and had just got belted in the rear on the drive home along Route 128. Luckily he was not hurt. His mother is a Rockport school teacher.

But while his mother, a high school classmate of ours, and the future clergy were shooting the breeze along came a mean-looking police dog to frisk our Molly from stem to stern. Now as master we have no qualms about any canine giving our four-footed darling a sniff as long as the fantail keeps a-bobbing, but when there's a sharp growl from the engine-room, we begin to get worried.

As it happened, this was not the case. The copper canine was friendly. The walk ended as beautifully as it had begun.

Why shouldn't it? It was a walk with a lady.
J.P.C., Jr.