Wondering What’s Inside – A Little Writing Practice

Rick and I walk our dogs three miles every day. Often we see one, particular fellow with his dog, tagging along beside him too. The man is very friendly, his dog well behaved, and we’ve been told that they walk six miles a day. They are quite the pair! Today after we saw them, I began wondering about the man. I decided to make him my writing topic for the day.  What I’ve written below is not true. It’s all fiction, aside from the dog’s name. We’ve been introduced to Abby, who truly is this guy’s best friend.

William was a grown man, yet he was sitting on a swing at the children’s playground like a little boy. He was simply resting though and perhaps reminiscing about days gone by. The brief respite was welcome for he had been walking for some time. He and his German shepherd rescue dog trekked through town six miles every day without fail. The two were pals and the two were growing old together. William was sixty-eight and his dog was eight and a half. They had been hiking side by side for eight years straight and neither of them ever tired of the routine.

The park where William and his dog, Abby, now rested was on their regular route and had become a frequent stopping place. William often paused there to take in the lovely scenery. Trees were abundant especially bordering a narrow creek that bulged with water after winter rains or dried to a trickle in the heat of summer. Every season brought welcome changes that delighted William’s senses -- budding trees and cool breezes in spring; stifling air and hot sun that blistered the pavement in summer; nature’s paintbrush washing the place in autumn colors; and winter with icy winds and biting drops of rain. Abby, his furry friend, always by his side, adapted to each season without so much as a whimper.

William also loved to watch little children play at the park. They created castles in the sand, plopped over the swings on tiny tummies, or ambitiously climbed the money bars, swinging one-handed amid squeals and giggles. Many children frequented the park -- pint sized toddlers, barefoot boys, and little girls wearing leotards and tutus. Parents always hovered nearby. William understood. Times had changed since the days when he was a boy, since the days when his mother would set him on the front stoop by ten o’clock in the morning and lock the door behind him. She had work to do, books to read, and naps to take. He was a nuisance.

Though it had been decades ago, the childhood memory was as vivid as if it had been yesterday. The past was gone though and along with it his mother, dead now, and barely remembered. She had, William realized now, begun it all, for he had wandered the neighborhood as a child, usually alone, and always lonely. The pattern had been set then it was clear, for he continued it now, with one significant difference. He was no longer by himself. He had Abby, his pup, and his constant companion.