A long walk with a slow dog

There are few forces stronger than an old dog who smells something good by the side of the road. You'd sooner be able to pull Mercury from its orbit. A young dog is always thinking (to the extent that they think), "What's next?" An old dog is more interested in "What's this?" Whatever it is, or was, Marley's nose won't leave until all the news has been sniffed out.
The dry weather of late has left a lot of these points of interest along the way of our early morning walk. There are few lights on in houses, usually just a porch light to welcome home a night-time traveler or to scare away evil-doers.
Traffic is very light. The few cars on the road at this hour go very fast. Other than that, the only sound is the clicking of Marley's nails on the sidewalk, an indicator that we've not been walking much lately.
Between sniffing bouts, Marley keeps a good pace. There's a small hill as we near home. He has this trick that, when he's tired, he'll get in front and then walk slowly, making sure that I walk at his speed. He'll be 14 in February, a reference age for black Labs. We're not thinking too much about that. Like the old dogs, we're thinking about "What's this?" and not "What's next?"
On the way out, the portions of our trip were lit by the waning gobbous moon. We return in first light. A few more people are up in their houses, getting the coffee started, bringing in the Sunday newspapers. Our older neighbors are up, while the houses of the young families are still dark.
Marley lies down the floor next to me and, within minutes, is snoring lightly.