Taking my imaginary doggy for a walk

—Thanksgiving day, our first pandemic Thanksgiving in quite a while. Also my first meatless Thanksgiving.
“No turkey should I have to give its life,” I said to a friend yesterday.
Yrs Trly has gotten away from eating meat. I still eat fish; my brother calls me a “pescatarian.” I also still eat hotdogs, but no pork, no poultry, and no red meat.
What to do. All my relatives are far away, and the church up the street canceled its Thanksgiving dinner.
So, baked salmon and asparagus and cauliflower. Take salmon out of freezer so it can thaw.
How about up to Lehigh Valley RailTrail to hike my imaginary dog? That would be Killian, who I lost two months ago.
Lehigh Valley RailTrail is risky, especially if I meet a pretty girl. We start talking, and that’s always grist for this blog.
“No pretty girl will talk to you!” Yet so many do.
So off to Lehigh Valley RailTrail, promising myself I will attempt to strike up a conversation with every contact, male or female.
Here they come! Two pretty girls walking a dog.
Do it! Say something! Strike up a conversation.
If it falls flat: NOT MY FAULT! (Try someone else.)
“I see your dog is taking you for a walk,” I say.
“Chatter-chatter-chatter-chatter,” and the older lady smiles.
I stop, we turn towards each other, and our eyes meet. Hers are twinkling.
“I’m taking my imaginary doggy for a walk,” I said.
“What?” she smiled.
My wife, gone over eight years, would get it right away. Most people don’t.
“I’m taking my imaginary dog for a walk,” I repeated.
“You keep going and you’ll pass his ashes up by that marker.”
“Awwww…… When did you lose him?”
“Over two months ago. I’m still devastated,” I said whimpering.
“Sorry,” I said.
“That’s all right,” she said, her smile fading.
But we were still striking sparks.
That older lady, skinny as a rail, was probably the dog-walker’s mother, and their dog was lunging toward the woods.
My hyper-religious parents and Sunday-School superintendent neighbor would call our talking to each other FLIRTING! Evil and disgusting.
I managed to strike up a conversation with every single contact on that rail-trail — except the bicyclists, who roar past flat-out.
And that included a cute young jogger. She smiled when I told her to not stop.
“Go to Hell, Bobby! Do you not pass Go, do not collect $200. Go directly to Hell!”
Versus “we could talk forever, and it sure would be fun, but I gotta keep going. My car needs gas.”