Old rocker in the woods

This morning as Moss and I walked in the woods we came across an old rocker walking on his own.  It was a warm summer’s day, so he was clad only in shorts and a T shirt, his long grey hair hung down like rope either side of his wrinkled face.   I’m sure that his tattoos and earrings told stories of his life.

Moss loves people, it’s her passion.  She went up to him and jumped up, as is her way at the moment.  We got chatting, he clearly loved dogs, and Moss was loving playing with him.  Then he said to me,

“I’ve got a dog.”  I asked,

“What sort of dog?”

“Spaniel”

“Is it a dog or a bitch?”

“It’s a bitch” then I asked,

“What’s its name?”  and he said,

“I don’t know. 

-  I’ve got dementia and I don’t know what my dog’s name is.”

Which was sad, but it was also rather wonderful, that he could tell me that he didn’t know what his dog’s name was.  Moss didn’t mind in the least, she just went on playing with him. 

Photo:          Moss on a summer walk in the woods.