I held the back door open and set one foot on the top step. As Lucy hopped down, I heard rustling behind me. Someone was going through our recycling bins.
As Lucy took a moment to sniff – the air, the dirt, the rose bushes – I looked to see who it was.
“Good morning,” the female voice called to me. “How are you?”
“Great,” I replied. “And glad it isn’t raining.”
She laughed as Lucy and I walked past her. She was familiar to us. I don’t know her name but she is one of a number of regulars who collect cans from recycling bins in the neighborhood. She, like several others, come around with shopping carts, laden with can filled bags. There is a fellow who used to come around with a cart, but has since purchased an old, brown Ford Econoline van. He is not as chatty as this recycler. He is not as quiet as the elderly gentleman who comes around on his bicycle, bags hanging from every possible place. He never says a word, but I can tell by the look in his eye that he is terrified of dogs – even Lucy.
As Lucy and I walk past the recycler and descend the back steps to the street, I see the cart.
“Sorry about the cart,” the recycler says.
“No problem,” I reply, “Lucy is small and can get around anything!”
We walked South down the street. As Lucy stood staring off into space – something she does more and more lately – I heard the wheels of the shopping cart head North.
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