New Moon Scroungers

With our dog leading the way and a dark, new-moon-lit sky overhead, we went out for a walk around the neighborhood.

That was the end of the story as we left it last. But there is something about that walk that I didn't tell you about. Something about us that I didn't tell you about.

As we walked in the dark of the new-moon night, passing the garbage cans set out for the next day's pick-up, we also passed something else. Dotting the lawnscapes here and there up and down our street were little piles of stuff. Stuff to be discarded. Stuff those folks no longer needed. Stuff that looked mighty fascinating in the dark. It was bulky-trash pickup week in our neighborhood.

There were microwave ovens. There were even old TVs. There were vacuum cleaners, three in a row at in front of one house. There were nameless contraptions that the boy picked up and turned, sending a squealing-squeaking sound into the night. Across the street, there were tangled knots of some kind of cord that the boy loudly proclaimed I needed.

Trudy walked quietly. Gazing wistfully at all the stuff, bending over only sometimes to get a better look.

There was so much stuff, but I resisted. I steeled myself and fought the temptation to take the tangled knot or the squeaking contraptions. I resisted, because I had standards, after all. That, and I had my sights on the garden edging strip I saw earlier from the car. It was just around the corner: a big loop of hard, black plastic that I just know I'll be able to use along some garden bed. I just know I will.

So with our dog leading the way and a mercifully dark, new-moon-lit sky concealing our movement from one pile to another down the block, we went out for a walk around the neighborhood. Scrounging.

These walks aren't only for dogs, you know.

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