Speaking Parenthetically

I’m out walking the dogs again. (I wouldn’t want my readers to think I spend all my time walking [because I also spend time feeding {and picking burrs from dogs} dogs] dogs.) I have a full life. I’m standing in the street, one pocket containing plastic bags for poop, another with nutritious peanuts for my friends the crows. I am under a tree, torn as to which way to proceed – the dogs are tugging in opposite directions. A little fat gray bird above me is emitting one chirp every two seconds. And I think, “That thing needs a fresh battery.”