Falling For You In Cape May

ONE

Yes, Totoy is my pet dog. He is a three year old Cafe-Au-Lait toy poodle and I rescued him from the shelter. It happened one Saturday morning, two weeks after my mom passed.  I was walking aimlessly in Central Park, and I came across a PAWS adoption event. I stopped and looked at the cute little puppies, not really  intending to adopt. But this cute brown bundle caught my attention,  looking so forlorn on a corner of the crate, while the others are jumping and wagging their tails.

"He's having some separation anxiety issues," I remember the volunteer telling me. "His previous owner passed away and the family couldn't take care of him so he was given up for adoption."

Oh! The poor guy is alone. I know, the moment I saw him, I already felt an instant connection. The day we met, we are both grieving - sad and alone.  So right then and there, I decided to get him.

We could both use the company, or we can also sulk and grieve together.  But now, he is the most precious being in my life. I spoil him rotten.

"Are you happy to see me? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" I said, scratching behind his ear. He is licking my wrist, trying to give kisses to my knuckles, wagging his tail and panting all at the same time.

I like that he gets this excited.

"Are you ready for your walk?" He was dancing in circles and jumping and barking.  He just couldn't contain himself.  He is one crazy dog!  I thought.  I put on his leash and we walk out to a clear starry night.

Walking up the steps to the sidewalk, I breathe in the cool summer breeze, the chirping of the cicadas gives  the street some background music - soulful melodies, that's what our next door neighbor, Mrs. Thomas said, one summer night when I was eight years old living in Virginia.

I remember Mrs. Thomas - a very charming lady,  I call her Grandma Thomas.  My mom and my dad used to go out on dates on a Friday night and they would leave me under Mrs. Thomas' care. We had lots of fun together, she thought me how to act like a proper lady - a Southern Belle, as she would refer it.. She was also the one who thought me how to work the kitchen - "because a fine lady knows how to cook," she would tell me.  If my parents were excited for their date night, I am too, because Friday nights with Grandma Thomas means Southern Fried Chicken, Mac 'n Cheese, Collared Greens, Cornbread and her famous Strawberry KoolAid. To top it all, a Peach cobbler for dessert! 

Oh!  Thinking about it just made my mouth water. When was the last time I ate a Southern Fried Chicken dinner?

Totoy jerked his leash, yanking me rudely out of my reverie. He is walking so fast, eager to get to the spot where he normally marks.

"Okay, okay slow down." I mused.

The area where my home is located is one of the affluent neighborhoods in New York City. I live in one of the townhouses that lined the street of 57th. I know,  you may think I am a snob living in this area but my home was a gift from my parents when I graduated with honors in Princeton. So I guess I deserve it.

I look at the row of houses where windows are illuminated with soft lights.  I love walking at nights, and if there is one thing I love about walking at night, it's window watching. I know to some, it may sound creepy, but for me it is fun. I get to imagine what the people's live were - families having dinner, friends drinking wine, older couples snuggled up in front of the TV and on few occasions, couples making out.

Making out. Hmm, I wonder what it's like.

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