Walking a dog is one of the fastest ways to discover what is happening in your community. I know when a neighbour is getting a new roof, repainting their house, planting a shrub, changing old windows, re-sodding their lawn or getting a parcel.

I know that the City is redoing the sewers on such and such a street or is cutting down yet another gracious, but ailing Elm. Sometimes I close a gate, move a tricycle off the sidewalk, and occasionally have suggested a parcel delivery guy put the parcel somewhere less obvious.

I notice that many people drive too fast on streets filled with children and that every winter more and more locals are riding their bikes to work, albeit with new- fangled, fat winter tires. If you want to know what’s happening in your neck of the woods ask a dog walker.

When my dog Ikwe died I was bereft. Without the need for daily walks I lost touch with many of my neighbours and though it was lovely to be able to sleep in I readily took up the leash when I acquired my rescue dog Luca.

Each of my dogs has forced me to make adjustments. Ikwe would happily walk leash- less as long as I remained within sight. Luca would chase every dog, squirrel or rabbit wherever they took him and not look back.

Three walks a day requires not only dedication but inspiration. We have four or five different routes and when we exhaust them I will drive somewhere for a change. New routes mean brand new smells and that means nose to the ground and stops at almost every tree.

We often meet other walkers. The man who lives down the block walks a Highland Terrier. We have never met but we wave. The couple a block away walk two Border Collies. We also wave but change sides to avoid confrontation. I have met the husband but not the wife. There is a young woman who walks Charlie a Maltese. We have met, introduced our dogs but not ourselves. I probably know the names of a dozen dogs but rarely that of their owners. Sometimes I share a walk with Elaine who has two elderly rescues. They could both fit on Lucas back, and thus Luca, who also has small dog syndrome, treats them with a certain disdain. Larger dogs are another matter.

Pecking order in dogs is a mysterious hierarchy that requires a canine brain to decipher. Just when I think I have it figured out and a certain dog is safe to meet, all hell breaks loose. Often the other owner and I will both be surprised by this sudden, ugly behaviour, and haul our mutts off with apologies on both sides.

The bigger the dog the better to avoid contact but so much of what might ensue depends on my behaviour . If I remain calm, speak with a gay, lilting voice we can usually pass without incident. If I tense, it’s game on and Luca stops, head erect, body rigid, ready to pounce.

Sometimes even the best behaviour cannot ensure that dog and owner escape unscathed, but that’s a story I’m saving for another day.