That’s a fire dog

The maple leaves in Seward Park haven’t started to senesce, but the Tai Chi regulars are bundled in sweaters and the high schoolers are back-to-school, huddled around the trash bins with New York hip hop — the type I might run to but am no longer cool enough to name — rattling their JBL speaker.

“This way bubba,” I say, maneuvering my overly-friendly four-month-old black standard poodle away from their lunch huddle. Away from “danger.”

I look up as we pass, making eye contact with a kid wearing a dark jacket and a Band-Aid patching his cheek.

He looks down, then tilts his head back. “That’s a fire dog.”

The leash loosens in my hand. Auburn looks up with her tongue out, as if receiving the compliment. “Thanks bro,” I say, as the song fades and Auburn leads me out the park.

Thanks for reading along for this mini series. Excited to share more soon (maybe Spring in NY?) and if anyone is looking for longer reading, I’m hosting a book club on nature and people of color that should be a lot of fun (more info here).