Small Things

I was gone most of the day, running around town, tending to the errands, getting gas, getting a haircut, picking out new glasses. I got home late and didn't have much time before I had to leave for dinner with Rene and Donnie and Mike and Beth (we're celebrating Rene's new job), but the highlight of the afternoon was being at The Glen with Duncan. It didn't matter that we didn't have long to play, only that The Glen still has snow and Duncan found a nice-sized stick to chew on. He played Keep-Away and wouldn't let me anywhere near him as he rested on the snowy side of the hill, the stick jutting out of his mouth as he chewed on it. There is something about Duncan with a stick in the snow that is truly magical. He ceases to be a dog, becomes something wild and untamed, bucking and thrashing with joy, head high as he dances on his back legs and spins in the air, or the way he curls his paws around it and tucks it down under his chin while he peels the bark from it. I watch him and think I could never bring him so much joy as the simple things he finds, the things I walk past or over without noticing.

If there is such a thing as reincarnation, it must take a special soul indeed to come back as a dog.