My Dog Years: For Every Year I Walk Dogs, I Age 7

ALAS

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Brenda."

The gate motor whirred and after a moment, the twelve-foot metal gates slowly opened inward. I pulled my black Honda onto the property and parked just behind their sedans. As I stepped out of my car, I could hear the rippling of a small tributary that ran along the edge of the property, parallel to Sunset Boulevard. The gate motor whirred again, drawing the gates closed. Once they were firmly closed, a very tall, lanky man with glasses and thoughtful blue eyes strolled out of the house. In his elegant cardigan sweater and loafers, he reminded me of a classics professor I had in college.

Alongside him on a six-foot leather leash, was a tubby, German Shepherd mix. She had the traditional black and tan saddle of the German Shepherd with the small face a fox and big eyes lined in black like Cleopatra. Her most striking feature was her stillness and complete silence. I outstretched my hand to shake her owner's hand. A subtle smile spread over his face as he looked down proudly at his dog.

"This is Happy."

"Hi, Happy. Nice to meet you."

I leaned down to pet Happy but she twisted her neck to pull away.

"She's still adjusting. Believe it or not she's come a long way. She was stray in South Central Los Angeles. She was found guarding a box of her dead puppies."

The irony of Happy's name made me sigh. The idea I had come up with on my drive over, to take them across Sunset Boulevard for a short stroll around the tranquil UCLA Sculpture Garden seemed to be the perfect suggestion for his timid dog.

"I was thinking we could walk her around UCLA. It's a beautiful campus. I take my dog there on Sunday mornings and he loves it."

Happy's owner looked down at her with pure love in his glistening eyes.

"What do you think, Happy?"

Happy shifted her weight anxiously in response. He smiled again at his sweet dog.

"'I'll take that as a yes."

Mr. Toffler led Happy to the back passenger door of his 1990s BMW sedan. My assumption that we could walk across Sunset Boulevard to the campus was a mistake.

"Oh, I thought we could walk since the campus is right across the street."

He shook his head firmly.

"There's no crosswalk and even if there were, it's a very dangerous street. You should never walk cross it if Happy is with you."

He had a point. All too often cars sped along the boulevard well over the speed limit and some blatantly ran the red lights knowing the red lights were short in duration.

I strode over to the front of the car and climbed into the front passenger seat as he buckled himself into the drivers seat. Behind us, Happy nervously shifted her weight, kneading the leather seat as if she were making wine in a vat. As we drove through the gates and out onto the street, she began drooling profusely.

"There, there Happy. Everything's going to be okay." He reached a long arm back to comfort his dog.

Fortunately for Happy it was less than a five minute drive to the sculpture garden. Parking permits were required every day of the week but we parked curbside directly in front of the garden without buying one. I felt awkward giving any instruction so I resigned myself to secretly hoping we wouldn't return to a parking citation on the windshield.

Happy awkwardly jumped out of the car onto the sidewalk, her legs splaying as she landed. I could see she was overwhelmed but she had enough trust in her owner that she faithfully followed him down the wide concrete steps. My two companions were both so quiet, I felt the need to fill the silence by playing tour guide.