Wednesday. There are patches of blue among white and grey puffy clouds--the air is cool. The familiar shapes of trees down Ainsworth seem to take a muted, distant tone while the sun hides. The dogs sniff eagerly at familiar places.

Just after we cross 55th, I am startled by a punching burst of sound from a passing car. I see that it's a dog, probably as big as Zeno, scrabbling madly at the windows of the car (a sedan) in excitement at seeing my dogs. How can that person stand to drive her car with such mad activity taking place?