Before Ernie got so sick, Walker and I took care of my sister's dogs every day. My sister is a teacher at a private Catholic school, but she also mentors, volunteers on several committees, assists in recruiting new staff, and serves as a chaplain of sorts for the girls' sports teams. She often works long days and the dogs were more comfortable here, with Walker and me, than home alone all day with just a brief visit when someone would come to let them out.
Back then I would walk the dogs around the neighborhood once or twice a day. On one of these walks a neighbor's house caught my eye. It's tucked into the back of a quiet cul du sac, nothing grand or flashy about it. I don't know why it appeals to me so much, but it does. I remember thinking that I wished I could see inside. Every time I walked the dogs down that road we'd go into the cul du sac, past the house. A few months later, I was startled to see a For Sale sign in the yard. I went home an told Walker, who was less than thrilled. We'd been in our home for about a year and were knee deep in remodeling. My old house was on the market still. There was no way we could entertain the idea of moving. He was right, I knew, but I decided that I would tour the property anyway, when the seller had an open house.
Except they never had one. The house sold too quickly. I figured it was for the best. No sense falling in love with something I couldn't have, right? I still admire that house every time I go down that street, and I still haven't been inside. Only now, this week, the house went back on the market.