From my very first day as dog owner I was warmly welcomed into into the “cult” of Third Street dog walkers. Well, it’s not really a cult, just an enthusiastic group of people who own dogs.

It was like meeting my neighbors all over again. I mean, I already knew many of these people by name but the fact that I was walking a dog brought new meaning to the term neighbor.

“You have a dog now?”

“What’s his name?”

“What kind of dog is he?”

“Is he friendly?”

I met so many new dogs (and people) those first few days on the street. One evening late I walked around the entire block with a woman and her two dogs. We talked dog: barking, eating, pooping, dog joys and dog woes.

I got to know Maximus, Petey, the two Rosie’s on the block, Monkey and countless other dogs whose names I learned and immediately forgot. Some dogs like to tease, some like to play. They can be shy, feisty, flighty, flirty, nutty or aggressive (and kept on a short leash by their owners).

I truly enjoyed my walks with Stanley. With each walk we got to know each other better and better. Over time I learned his rhythms, his habits, the way he liked to do things (i.e. poop and pee). He loved the snow and hated the rain. He had a penchant for sniffing various and sundry items on the street and loved to explore small holes, gates, leaves, pieces of gum and garbage.

Stanley was a good companion, fun to be with, funny to observe. He got very excited when he saw other dogs and was very friendly. He elicited smiles from strangers, exclamations of “cute dog” from adults and children. While he was a sweetheart most of the time, he barked at the United Parcel guy and the mailman.

On our walks, I learned that people enjoy walking their dogs — even if they do have to put the poop in a little blue plastic bag. I learned never to go out without one of those blue plastic bags.

I learned that people love their dogs fiercely, passionately, profoundly.