Monday, December 10, 2007

Snow Therapy

I did not have a good day and because I've grown so used to spending the majority of it sitting on my butt at my desk, my feet hurt because I was on them all day. By the time I got home I was grumpy, tired of people and barely able to stand myself. I certainly wasn't in the mood to take Duncan for a walk, but, once again my dog is smarter than me and showed me that I did want to walk, that sometimes doing the silliest things–dog things–can be rejuvenating and healthy.

We crossed the park and almost immediately he tossed himself into the snow, keeping his eye on me the entire time, almost as if he expected me to do the same. Of course I was in no mood for that so I pulled on his leash and demanded he walk. We hadn't gone more than ten feet when he did it again, rolling and sliding through the the wet, watching me as though I were the fool for not doing the same.

I finally coaxed him into walking but when we got to the far side of the baseball diamonds he simply stopped, turned toward the upper diamonds above Columbine and stared, his back to me. "Come on, Roo," I urged but he wouldn't budge. Thinking he might have spotted a rabbit, I finally gave in and let him take the lead. He led me up the narrow walk, turned left and kept going as though he knew exactly where he was taking me, which I don't doubt he did. After leading me around the volleyball courts we came to a a nice quiet spot, lined with short round trees with undisturbed snow where Duncan stopped and looked at me. He has this way of watching me, of cocking his head and raising his eyebrows that seems like he's trying to say something if only evolution would allow it. We stared at one another a moment and when he finally rolled over, face first, into the snow, I got the message.

Dropping his leash I flopped down on my back, spread my arms wide as Duncan threw himself into them. He nuzzled his head against my cheek, kicked his feet up into the air, as if trying to run upside down, grunted and snorted and covered me in thick wet snow. I laughed, pulled him close and tossed snow straight up, closed my eyes and felt it rain back down on us.

It was heaven, laying with my dog in the cold, not caring if someone else, or even the coyotes, were watching. I didn't care if they thought I was crazy because at that moment I knew that I was more sane than I had been all day.

1 comment:

Ruth said...

I'm so happy you have each other.