Back to Slow

Our little doggie has injured himself again. Like many of us who are getting older, he doesn't always recognize the limits of his strength and endurance. We found him whimpering at the bottom of the deck stairs Monday night. Once again, it seems, the darkness and the stairs have done him in, and he now has his second torn ACL.

When he walks slowly, I walk slowly. So we strolled a few houses down and back this morning, taking in the fine new smell of the morning and getting a sense of the day.

As he sniffs, I look around. There was a fox, not more than 50 feet away, staring at us. Could Copper have possibly missed him? I think he did. Maybe the fox is why I woke to the sound of a crow caw. Was it a warning from one bird to his flock?

Closer to home, we ambled beneath the weeping cherry, now sparsely leaved. It was dripping pink petals the last time Copper was injured. We are charting the seasons with our strolls. I inhale deeply, ponder the dearness of this doggie, and walk on.

(Speaking of foxes, I snapped a photo of this one a few months ago in the backyard.)