Page 2 of Sassy & Sixty
Mary's head snapped up. "What? Oh, Mum, I couldn't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking, I'm offering," Rosie said, surprising herself. She hadn't so much as petted a dog since their old Labrador, Biscuit, had passed away years ago. But desperate times called for desperate measures. "It's no trouble, really. You focus on the twins, and I'll make sure Elvis here gets some exercise."
"Are you sure?" Mary asked, hope creeping into her voice. "He can be a handful..."
Rosie waved away her concerns. "Nonsense. How hard can it be to walk a little dog like Elvis? It'll do me good to get some fresh air."
Twenty minutes later, Rosie found herself wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake. Elvis pranced ahead of her, tugging on the leash with surprising strength for such a small dog. They'd barely made it to the end of Mary's street, and already Rosie was out of breath.
"Heel, Elvis," she commanded, trying to remember the dog training shows she used to watch. Elvis ignored her completely, instead choosing that moment to stop and thoroughly investigate a lamppost.
Rosie sighed, glancing around furtively. The park at the end of the road was filled with young mothers pushing prams, joggers in skin-tight lycra, and professional dog walkers managing packs of well-behaved pooches. She felt painfully out of place in her sensible shoes and conservative outfit.
A young woman jogged past, flashing Rosie a pitying smile. "Cute dog," she called over her shoulder. "Is he your granddog?"
Rosie felt her cheeks flush. Granddog? Did she really look that old? She caught her reflection in a shop window and gasped. When did she start looking like her own grandmother?
Elvis chose that moment to give the leash a particularly forceful tug, nearly yanking Rosie off her feet. She stumbled, arms windmilling as she fought to keep her balance.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered, finally regaining her footing. She glared down at Elvis, who looked back at her with an expression of pure innocence. "Don't give me that look. I'm onto you, you little furball."
As they entered the park, Rosie's discomfort grew. She felt like every eye was on her - the old lady who couldn't control one tiny dog. A group of mothers with buggies eyed her warily as Elvis strained towards them, yapping excitedly.
"Sorry, sorry," Rosie apologised, trying to steer Elvis away. "He's just... friendly."
One of the mothers, a willowy blonde in designer athleisure wear, raised an eyebrow. "You might want to try a harness," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "It gives you more control."
Rosie bristled. More control? She'd raised a child on her own, run a successful business, and navigated a divorce. She could handle one small dog, thank you very much.
But as Elvis darted from bush to bush, wrapped the leash around her legs, and generally made a nuisance of himself, Rosie's confidence waned. She was sweating now, her carefully styled hair coming loose in the light breeze.
"Elvis, please," she pleaded, trying to untangle herself for the umpteenth time. "Can't we just have a nice, calm walk?"
Elvis responded by spotting a squirrel and taking off at full speed. Caught off guard, Rosie found herself being dragged along, her sensible shoes slipping on the damp grass.
"Stop! Heel! Sit!" She tried every command she could think of, but Elvis was on a mission. The squirrel darted up a tree, and Elvis came to an abrupt halt at its base. The sudden stop sent Rosie stumbling forward, and before she knew it, she was face-down on the ground, her dignity in tatters along with her beige cardigan.
For a moment, she lay there, the cool grass against her cheek, wondering how on earth she'd ended up in this situation. Then, she felt a warm, wet tongue on her face. She opened her eyes to find Elvis looking at her with what she could have sworn was concern.
Despite herself, Rosie chuckled. "Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten us into," she said, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Elvis wagged his tail, then promptly flopped down next to her, resting his head on her lap.
As Rosie sat there, grass stains on her knees and Elvis contentedly snuggled against her, she realised something. For the first time in years, she felt... alive. Her heart was racing, her cheeks were flushed, and despite the embarrassment, she felt a spark of something she hadn't experienced in a long time. Excitement? Adventure?
She looked around the park with new eyes. Yes, there were the perfect young mothers and the fit dog walkers. But there were also older couples strolling hand in hand, groups of friends laughing on benches, and solo wanderers lost in thought. Maybe she didn't have to fit into any particular box. Maybe it was time to create her own category.
With a renewed sense of determination, Rosie got to her feet, brushing grass from her clothes. "Alright, Elvis," she said, a glint in her eye. "Let's try this again, shall we? And this time, we play by my rules."
As they set off down the path, Rosie held her head high. Let them stare. Let them wonder about the sixty-something woman with grass in her hair and a mischievous dog by her side. She had a feeling this was just the beginning of something new and exciting.
By the time they returned to Mary's house, Rosie was disheveled, tired, and covered in dog hair - but she was also grinning from ear to ear. As she handed Elvis back to a grateful and slightly bemused Mary, she made a decision.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, surprising both Mary and herself.
Mary's eyes widened. "Really? You'd do that?"
Rosie nodded, a newfound resolve settling over her. "Absolutely. Elvis and I have some unfinished business in that park."
As she drove home, Rosie couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, taking in her wind-tousled hair and the spark in her eyes. Maybe it was time to trade in those sensible slacks for something a little more... daring.
