I started morning walks in the first week of September, mostly because my doctor said my sugar was borderline. The
plan was thirty minutes around the colony park, before the traffic wakes up and the milk vans arrive. First week
I quit on day three because my legs hurt and it was still dark outside. Second week I made it to
day six, and after that I stopped counting. On the ninth day a thin brown dog started following me from
our gate to the park entrance. I ignored him, then I felt bad and shared half of a Marie biscuit
I had in my pocket. That was my mistake, because he has waited at the gate every morning since that day.
He walks two steps behind me, never ahead, and he stops when I stop at the tea stall. My husband laughs
and says I have adopted a dog without paying for the vaccines. The tea stall owner now keeps a small steel
plate for him and charges me nothing for the milk. Two weeks ago I did not go out because of rain,
and the dog was standing at the gate, wet. I felt so guilty that I put on my raincoat and walked
anyway, in slippers. My sugar number came down by eleven points at the last check, which surprised the doctor and me.
I would like to say it was the walking, but the dog gets some of the credit. Without him I
would have stayed in bed on at least half of those mornings. He does not care about my pace, my
breathing or the fact that I wear mismatched socks. Yesterday he was not at the gate for the first time, and
I stood there like a fool. I walked the whole route slowly, looking behind me every few steps, and the
park felt too quiet. He was sitting outside the tea stall when I got back, chewing on something he had found.
He looked up, wagged once, and went back to chewing. I think we are fine.