I want to remember the dog hurling toward us, ahead of a truck, the Oh-God feeling that he was coming to attack us, that he was twice the size of you, and I’d witness yet another dog fight. But then I realized, its owner was following in a pick-up truck. This bizarre way to “walk” one’s dog, and the relief felt when it hit us, and just kept running.
Life with Mike is good. We cook together, take walks, share each other’s separate lives. I still don’t feel married in some ways. Life is simple and easy with him. We don’t fight.