Spinning in their graves

—“So why always Lehigh Valley RailTrail when I hike my imaginary Killian, as I used to do?”
I’d say that to my friend at the kennel that used to daycare Killian.
(Killian is gone since mid-August.)
“Because every time I hike there I meet pretty ladies. I let ‘em talk, and they smile at me.”
My sanctimonious Sunday-School superintendent neighbor, and my hyper-religious parents, all spin in their graves.
So many ladies this time I don’t know where to start.
First was a leggy brunette with baby-carriage doing calisthenics trailside.
“Am I allowed to say hello?” I asked, as I approached.
That’s an opening line, an attempt to start a conversation.
It fell flat.
I kept walking, then “have a nice day,” she chirped.
“Too late!” I thought to myself. “I tried to start a conversation, and it seemed you didn’t want me to. No charm for you, honey!”
When I returned later she was still there, lay-down calisthenics instead of standing.
“I figgered you’d be gone by now,” I said to her.
She giggled and smiled.
“Oh, wanna talk this time, eh? I coulda just walked by and avoided you all together, but I thought you were worth trying again.”
I didn’t say that, but that was what was happening.
The fact I tried again made her feel good. She wasn’t avoiding me this time.
Many more male/female encounters happened afterwards, including ladies being walked by their dogs.
Couples passed me on bicycles; the wife says hello, and the husband doesn’t.
That’s the way it usually is; I guess the men feel threatened by the fact I’m male. Some competition I’d be, except I encourage ladies to talk.
Later another pretty lady approached, said hello, and passed me.
“Didn’t I see you in here before?” I asked her after she passed.
She turned and smiled, at least 10 yards past me.
“I come here on my lunch hour. Get some fresh air.”
Not stunningly attractive, but enough for me to avoid her 10 years ago.
“And yes, I’m glad I said something. You smiled at me.”
At trail’s-end I thread a narrow walkway, and I heard ladies behind me on bicycle.
“On your left,” one chattered. There are two passageways; the bicycles could take the other.
One, then a second, then a third passed. Then a fourth, and finally a fifth, far behind.
“Any more?” I asked that one.
“Nope,” she said. “I’m the last one.”
Walk complete, I could get into my car and drive back home.
Far-away the ladies were hanging their bicycles on racks on their cars.
“Now,” I thought to myself, as I motored toward the parking-lot entrance…..
“Blow the horn at ‘em. Let ‘em know you enjoyed meeting them.” 10 years ago I wouldna, but this time I did.
They all waved and smiled at me. I was makin’ ‘em happy.
“Go to Hell, Bobby! Go directly to Hell! Do not pass ‘go;’ do not collect $200. Fiery furnace for you, Bobby!”
(If it’s fun it’s sin!)

• “Killian,” a “rescue Irish-Setter,” was my most recent dog. He made age-11, and was my seventh Irish-Setter, an extremely lively dog. A “rescue Irish-Setter” is usually an Irish-Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. Or perhaps its owner died. (Killian was a divorce victim.) By getting a rescue-dog I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Killian was fine. He was my fifth rescue. (Yet another dog lost to canine cancer.)