I think I recognize the face. . . .

One thing about a new home is getting to know the neighbors and sorting them out.
Since we’ve moved in here, I’ve met Lily – hesitant, hates cold weather; Elsa – young and headstrong, but enthusiastic; Rosie – loud, but that’s probably because she’s a bit older and therefore deaf; Beau – polite, but a bit distant; and Baxter – a bit on the large side, and with the potential to throw his weight around.

          Mamie, however, is completely uninterested in meeting anyone in her strata of society. People, yes. Dogs, no.

          In some cases I can’t blame her. The perfectly nice gentleman across the street has two Chihuahuas who come rolling out of their condo in a permanent tangle of leashes, skinny legs, and snapping jaws. It’s like watching tumbleweed that yips and growls. Sorry, but I can’t see the joy in that kind of companionship.

          I’m doing great at remembering the dogs’ names, not so much their owners'. I’ve run into some neighbors out for a walk without their canine companions and only at the last moment realized we’d met before.

In the past week I’ve already had three extended conversations with the nice lady across the street who’s just acquired Lily, but only recently learned her name last night at the complex’s Christmas party.

          I did offer a suggestion that if only we could all bring our dogs to these events, I’d have a much better chance of remembering my human neighbors.