I'm much sadder than I expected to be about the recent death of a dog who lived up the street from me. His name was Griz, and he constantly got loose and roamed happily around town. Many's the time I'd see him trotting down the street past my house and, an hour or so later, see a car heading up the street with him in the passenger seat, his head out the window, tongue lolling, once again having been caught by some good Samaritan who knew where he lived and was driving him home. One day this summer, I was pottering about in my front yard and looked up to see him walking purposefully up the street. When he caught sight of me, he slowed down, clearly expecting me to try to catch him. When he realized I wasn't going to--he was on his way home, after all--he ambled over and honored me with some very fishy kisses (he'd obviously been poking around in the lobster bait joint next door a moment before). He was a great dog, and he got hit by a fire truck the other night. I miss him.
