About A Boy

Photo by E.

Dogs are not curricula. But they do sweeten, or bitter-sweeten, our experience of life and this can sometimes be reduced to a lesson. 

Al is nine and a half. Greyhounds live ten to twelve years, fifteen on the outside. Grey peppers his muzzle. When he ran with some other dogs this winter, Al–who once covered 300 meters in 17.2 seconds and raced in the night of the greyhound stars– could not keep up. He has some calcification between two disks and in the morning, when he is stiff from sleep, sometimes one paw drags a little. But this is now treated with a supplement and, when I took him in to the vet last Monday for his annual physical, they said if the pain gets worse, it can be treated with medication.      

Spring makes Al happy.  How do we know this, since he can’t talk? The bouncy gait, the open mouth, the bright eyes, the lobbying nose–he’ll thwop you with it–whenever a walk is mentioned. He has friends–people he brightens when he sees–and he makes friends. He worships E.

In one of the two sunny days we had last week, I had to take Al on a very short late morning walk because I had a lunch meeting. So I gave him an unexpected walk at 2:30. You’ve never seen a happier animal. The sun was out, the breeze was light, the grass was finally greening and Al just bounced along our six block jaunt.  Sometimes you have to stop and smell the roses. Or, well, the urine.

Maybe the moment was sweet because last week was generally a smear of overcast days, multitasking, conference calls, anxious deadlines, Pavlovian dings signaling email, frantic yet unfocused work. At any rate, that walk was one of those rare moments that defines what it means to be alive.

Comments

[Mandy]

Gorgeous photo.

[Carolyn]

Oh, I love this.