Paulie passes

The old woman comes up to me on the street and says without hesitation “Paulie died.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about, but a second later I recognize both her and what she means. She and her ancient dog Paulie used to walk around the neighborhood for what seemed like hours. He barely moved but she was all right with that. I’d see them out early in the morning and late at night always inching along, Paulie sniffing here and there, checking things out you know he had already checked out ten thousand times in his life.

“How old was he?”

“Eighteen. He just didn’t wake up one morning.”

I waited a moment and then said as gently as I could, “Well, eighteen is a good long life.”

“He always liked you.”

“He did?”

“Yes, I know he was always glad to see you. He thought of you as a friend.”

I want to say something but don’t know what. I manage a “thank you.”

She nods and walks away.