“What I really get a kick out of is that they call their high school mascot, the ‘Syrupers,’ or something like that. Doggonest thing,” my neighbor, Stan, laughingly shared with me.
Stan and his smallish dog, Reggie, were heading up the street we both live on, Fantasy Way. My Yorkie, Nick, and I were headed toward them.
It was early afternoon; we paused to converse.
This gentle, elderly man’s habit, whenever encountering me, was to say something short and sweet. He always wore a smile and made me feel good.