We made our way along the trail
from the condo out about a quarter
mile, two gimpy guys — me with
a “runner’s knee” according to
an MRI and the chocolate lab
with his arthritic elbow caused
by untreated dysplasia when he
was a puppy according to the
cat scan he had after two vets
thought he had cancer. I’m 72
and he’s 72 in my years. I’ve
thought of him as a son, but
he’s actually my brother. Occ-
asionally, he would make it for
the wash following the scent of
rabbits who proliferate because
the coyotes have moved to greener
pastures in the desert. I asked
him, “Well, bro, you want to
head back?” He looked at me
and followed my lead occasion-
ally making for the wash on the
way back only a bit more slowly
than on the way out.