Every morning, Claire and I take Chewy for a brisk morning walk down Truman Street before heading to the bus stop. We walk and talk, pausing to let him sniff the grass and leaves so he can find a place to do his business.
"I know he has to go," Claire said.
She was smiling at me.
Chewy was sniffing and circling.
"I have a sense about this."
"I believe you," I said.
"Well, a dog looking for a place to poop is kinda like a kid looking for the right parents."
"You mean, before they come into the world?"
"Yeah, kinda like that," she said.
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