Every day starts the same.
Wake up, stretch, shower, glass of water, and off to the Koumenberg with the dogs (now just Easy) for a walk.

No decision fatigue. We go. Rain or shine.

Today it’s grey, drizzly, wet and cold. Still, Easy — despite her Spanish roots — is excited as always.

When we return from our daily hour of fresh air, Harry is just stepping out of his car. Harry and I drive the same car and walk the same hill — and as far as I know, that’s where the similarities end.

Some walkers on the hill avoid Harry. He can complain. A lot.
With him, the glass often seems half empty. Or just completely empty.

And honestly, sometimes he behaves strangely.
He once placed sticks in the middle of the path so the man in the mobility scooter — with whom he has an ongoing feud — couldn’t pass.
Another time, after their dogs got into a fight, he threatened a woman rather fiercely.

Harry ignored me for a while too. A few years ago, on a beautiful Sunday morning, he went on a rant about Geert Wilders and how he was going to fix everything. When I interrupted him and said, “Sorry, but I actually think it’s a beautiful day — I’m going to continue my walk,” he didn’t look at me too kindly for quite some time after that.

As far as I know, I’ve always greeted him — even after that — with a smile and a Limburg “hooooi.” It’s simply not very practical to have to look for escape routes during your morning walk.

As Easy happily greets Harry while he steps out of his car, he does what he’s been doing more often lately: make a bit of small talk.

“It’s cold, isn’t it? What weather… no sun today.”

With rosy cheeks and nose from the cold and eyes that are quietly sparkling, he suddenly says:

“But when I see you, the sun shines a little anyway.”

And just like that, Harry completely catches me off guard.
As I walk back to my car, I feel a tear rising. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it.

Because once again, Harry reminds me that everyone has two sides.

A grumbling side.
And a sunny side.

Even Harry.