The other end of the leash. That is where you are. The dog is at the far end, nose to the ground, reading something in the pavement that was written there last Tuesday by a dog you will never meet. The Anser leash runs between you. Electric blue, hot pink, burnt orange. Bold from the clip at the collar all the way up to the loop in your hand. People will look at the dog. Then they will look at the leash. Then they will look at you, because the leash says something about you as much as it says something about the dog. Heavy-duty nylon webbing. A bolt snap that clicks onto the D-ring with the satisfying certainty of a thing made for exactly this purpose. A reinforced loop handle that feels like something worth holding. The walk is not getting you somewhere. The walk is the somewhere. The Anser knows this.
