Strays Friends - The dogs of our neighborhood

I meet three friends regularly on the low. I enjoy their company, and I guess they enjoy mine. One of them is imaginatively named Blackey—because he's black. Another is called Sketchers; it's because he looks like one of those shoes you can get at Sketchers. The third is just "Dalley" (Shorty), on account of his height.

Blackey is not like the other two. He stays with his folks and comes out for a few hours most days. The other two—they're homeless. They wander around and greet me excitedly because they know I have something for them and that they’ll get to eat today.

There are some other neighbors, too, who do the same. Whenever those guys spot me, they come running. It’s fun to tease them as well.

It’s been years since I’ve known these three, and they feel like good companions, even though all they can do is bark and wag their tails at me. Sometimes, during the day, I wonder what they might be doing, and the thought of them goofing around our street makes me smile.

Being strays, they wander a lot. I find them in the most unexpected places in our neighborhood. Sometimes, one or both of them disappear for days—maybe not lost exactly, but they just aren’t around.

When we do finally meet again, it’s always a joy to be greeted by them. I wanted to write something about them so they’ll stay here in words, always—for me to look back on.