He comes to me when I walk. Last night, with Finley riding on my chest, I took a walk. Sean was putting the girls to bed as I slipped out. We walked slowly, Finley’s hands held one of mine as her mouth moved along as if playing the harmonica. A mellow breeze moved the air, cooling and chasing away the humidity of the day. I smiled at the checkerboard of perfectly manicured lawns and dandelion dotted yards, a challenge to step up our own yard work and license to slack at the same time. A few blocks from home we came upon one of the biggest houses in town, infamous for its owners mean, mean dogs. Watching for the dogs, I was surprised to…