retrieving a friend

Went to a dog show last Sunday.

I felt 12 years old again. The age when I ran around the neighbourhood with my best friend A., ringing strangers' doorbells to ask if we could walk their dog, knowing every dog breed by heart, making up a bunch of pretend dogs when  the real ones weren't enough.

Then friends took over my attention, and boys, and books, and Jesus, and volleyball. And A. disappeared out of my life, more or less, for decades.

At the dog show, I looked around and saw thousands of dogs and even more humans. I found I could still identify most of the dog breeds. At the retriever ring I stopped, because retrievers used to be our favourites.

Someone said, "Hi!" And there was A. beside me, grinning. It was so unexpected, so predictable, and so right. The tousled little brat was now a bank teller and mother of two, but the grin was the same. We walked around, discussing life and pointing out weird-looking dogs, and everything was the same.