My walks with Duncan have served as a reminder to me that there is no aspect of this life of ours that is unimportant, from the bending of the grass under the weight of the morning dew to the long shadows cast by the ants scuttling blindly across the pavement as the sun dips low on the horizon. I am as fascinated by the minutiae of the world––maybe more so–– as I am of the breathtaking and extraordinary sights of the big and obvious, the loud and bright. Roo is patient with me, sometimes spending long moments sitting at my side while I lean in to watch the slow crawl of a box elder bug up the trunk of an aspen or the light dancing across a bending field of fuzzy, purple thistles.
And so it was this morning on our walk. Not far down The Run I spotted the button-cap of a mushroom, sand-dollar shaped and hued, with delicate, fingerprint lines racing from its rim to the bowl of its center. I sat down next to it and peered at it from all angles, but because it was so short, smaller than my pinkie finger, I could not see its underside however hard I tried. Some things, I guess, are to remain a mystery. And that is just fine with me, because what fun would life be without a few questions and surprises.
I must be doing something right by stopping and looking because no sooner had I finished my examination of the thing than Dunc leaned down and gave it a long hard sniff before turning to look at me as if to say, "Good catch. Good boy!"
When he is proud of me I know I've done well.