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Theres a small group of us who gather frequently behind the Met on what I think is calledDog Hill.
The group seemed to spring up spontaneously around the first days of quarantine and has gradually taken root.
It has become, by far, the best part of my day.
Even when the park isnt exploding with dogwood and cherry blossoms.
Even when its raw and rainy.
Its a kind of meditation.
And its a unique way to get to know people, because theres no agenda.
The agenda is our dogs.
We know some people mostly by their dogs names, and some by their own.
Since dog people are nice people by and large, the group doesnt have a New York edge.
Today, I am wearing my pajamas under a$99 duffle coat from Amazon.
Its my favorite piece of clothing.
It has tons of zippers.
In one pocket are little biscuits, in another are caca bags, and in another gloves.
I wear a bandana over my face.
Hair in a ponytail.
I do not care.
Large transport trucks and buses with Disaster Relief emblazoned on the sides are parked in front on Fifth Avenue.
It is a military operation, impressively organized.
Yesterday we went a new way for our afternoon walk, the one Bruce comes and gets me for.
Then we climbed up a trail and found ourselves in a dell where Id never been.
The ground was softened by wood chips.
It was just the two of us.
The heart and lungs of this city.
Today, however, we take our usual route.
There is a road that goes past the perimeter of the hospital that is the access to Fifth Avenue.
I am not hiking back up any hill.
The wall which borders Central Park on both sides is not to be trifled with.
It says Dont Mess With Me.
Thankfully, there is a point where the wall is lower.
When I stand next to it, it comes up to my waist.
Now I just have to vault over it myself and well be on our way.
Except for the vaulting thing.
Except for the being-a-73-year-old-woman-with-two-artificial-hips thing.
He is a rescue.
I met Bruce and took him home a home he has destroyed many times over.
I realize that I am many years too old to have a puppy, but he has matured.
There are no more accidents.
A few wayward toys, but now the fields are fallow.
I am weighing my options.
I say, Thanks, but Im 73 and too old to be scaling walls.
They come back with, Wow!
Our parents are 72 and they could never do that!
Should I be flattered?
Well, I havent done it yet!
I reply, and notice a few others gathering near the Billy Graham trucks.
I could see a sermon hovering in my future.
I heave one leg over and the other and land next to an ecstatic Bruce on the bench.
This has been the most excitement Ive had since the coronavirus hit.
But thats for another time.
Candice Bergenis an award-winning actress and New YorkTimesbest-selling author.
you’re able to follow her on Instagram at@bergenbags.
