“No more autographs. I’m EXHAUSTED.”

It is an extremely surreal experience to walk down the street, through the neighborhood and be greeted by passerbys in this manner: “HI OLIVE. HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING?” It’s not that I am bothered at being dismissed as the biological parasite attached to Olive by a three-foot leather leash. It’s that I don’t even know this person. It seems like everyone in town knows who Olive is. I’m sure I must have met this person during one of our daily walks, but we meet so many people—and their dogs—that I’d be hard pressed to remember. Oh, and the biological matter who greeted Olive? She was tethered to a cute if slightly rotund Jack Russell. Olive and the Jack Russell re-acquaint themselves via a simultaneous butt sniffing, forming a circle that spins ‘round and ‘round while their tails dance with joy. When I see dog’s tails behave this way, it reminds me of the fourth of July sparklers we used to wave around as kids. Crackling with energy and excitement and just the tiniest bit of fear. I stand there rather disconnectedly, trying to recall either the woman’s or Jack Russell’s name. No dice. Neither is surfacing to my prefrontal cortex. After the dogs have completed their biological shakedown, the four of us disengage and move on. Olive prances along like a drum majorette, experiencing all that this beautiful morning has to offer through her amazingly facile nose. I half expect paparazzi to jump out from behind a bush and thrust a pen and an autograph book into Olive’s face. “NOT YET, OLIVE. NOT QUITE YET. FIRST I HAVE TO WRITE THE BOOK. THEN YOU’LL GET TO AUTOGRAPH THEM.” I notice two other dog walkers up ahead, approaching us from opposite sides of the street. As we get closer, I chuckle as I hear, “HI OLIVE. HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING?” Déja Vu.