b'Lewie leads on. Morning shadows from roofs and trees,cast by a waking sun, stretch across the sidewalk. And Octoberwinks from treetops turning red. The leaves rustle, applaudingsummer for its job well done. Lewie stops to smell a bush,grows bored, and presses onward. His collar jingles and hissmooth black ears flap like the wings of an eager butterfly withevery paw-padded stride. He slows his pace. Two cats sun themselves in two sliversof sunlight that snuck between houses. He avoids disturbingthem, despite his curiosity. We cross the street to avoid them,returning to the other side once we are beyond their reach. Asquirreljettisonsacrossayardasallsquirrelsdo,hurryingchaotically toward nowhere. We press on.Atrainswhistleechoes,dampenedbythedistancebetween us and the tracks downtown. It sings an homage tothe areas industrious, now oxidized past. At the top of the hill,we turn right. A red light hangs unemployed, stopping no one,anticipating no one, then turning green for no one.LewieandIarehalfwaynowthroughourwalk.Hismorning energy has subsided some after confronting bushesand conquering hills and avoiding cats. Were both grateful itsdownhill from here. We pass front porches covered in thinputting-greencarpet,thekindofcarpetthatcoveredmygrandmothers back porch in Pittsburgh. Tucked deep in aneural pathway, a wiffle ball bounces into my five-year-oldhands. And my grandmas small Polish hands clap with pride,prepared for me to return the ball.The sun lifts above the homes and warms Lewies blackfur. His pace quickens as if he performs a puppys version ofphotosynthesis. He watches leaves dance on the wind as theyjump from their branches to the sidewalk ahead. Lewie trotsalong, his butterfly ears bouncing. The breeze stills as leaves crunch underfoot and undersaw,causing a silence so out of place Lewie stops and cranes hishead.Thevagabondquietarriveswiththedensityofaninfinity of memories. It leaves as quickly as it arrived as churchbells ring nearby with the sound of a thousand obituaries. Seven bellows echo into the world and fade away. And astheprevioushourpasses,thesereverentstreetsdisturbedonly by some aimless squirrels, two cats sunning themselves,and a dog with its humanreceive the bells homily that witheach hour brings the old truth that we too, ring toward silence.Lewie and I reach our home as the seventh ring finds us.I open the door, and Lewie strides inside to search for a toy.As I close the door, the breeze that rushes in is chilled aroundthe edges. Many Sundays from now, when I cant sneak from thebed and Lewies exuberance slows to the soft love of an oldfriend, we will leave for our last walk. We wont know its ourlast walk. But these brick streets will. And theyll sit silently aspaint peels from the sides of homes, and the church bells willoffer their solemn sermon over our quieted neighborhood. Uwww.TheNewBarker.com THE NEW BARKER 51'