I live in Montreal’s Plateau-Mont-Royal borough. Every morning I walk my dog. There’s a rhythm to walking that lets your brain come loose. My dog is a good walker. Sometimes he pulls off to the side when he needs to poop, or if he sees a squirrel clinging to a tree-trunk, or a piece of soggy bread or puke or french fries in the gutter. But mostly walking my dog feels like walking a cloud. He’s that sweet about it. As we walk, we are both looking around everywhere. He keeps an eye out for repulsive things to eat or for squirrels or for other dogs. He sniffs the air. He avoids puddles like the plague. I look around too, and sometimes I stop and take a picture. Nothing fancy. Just the new point-and-shoot: my phone. My dog waits for me patiently while I do this. Then we start walking again. //