Notes from the Pandemic: Chapter One: These Days: These Days

Nine

The Dogs. March 24, 2020

I live on an urban mountain just north of downtown Los Angeles. It’s possible that it’s just a fairly big hill – I remember looking up what it takes for a hill to be considered a mountain back when I was in elementary school and I lived on a hill near the harbor – but since mountain is part of the name of this neighborhood, that’s what we call it.

It’s always been a place where people are out walking. But these days there are a lot more people out, crisscrossing trails, stopping to watch hawks catch air currents and fly overhead, nodding at people walking in the opposite direction – or crossing the street to avoid them. Because everyone is staying six feet away from each other. Or more.

Except the dogs. By some small miracle, some saving grace, pets aren’t known to transmit the virus. So while their humans stand back, I greet the dogs who are out walking. I scratch their ears. I laugh when they lick me. I rub my hands in their fur.

Touch. It’s what I miss the most.