Walking Greta home. Thats what I found myself doing Sunday morning. I had waited until after dawn to take my walk. Too many mornings I find myself using a flashlight to light my way, and I miss seeing the turning leaves and other changes fall brings to the woods that surround our house. This morning, looking through the trees on the West side of the trail, I could just make out a large pop-up camper set up in our neighbors pasture. It was still very early, and no one was stirring, but I guessed that perhaps one of the kids had had a sleepover. Trees, the briary bog, the white fence and part of the pasture separated us, and we hadnt heard a peep during the night, but, rounding the trail, I stepped a little more quietly anyway. I could hear their rooster, on the far side of their house, crowing faintly as I climbed the rise. A different noise made me pause and listen. Deer wander the trail in the mornings, lazily poking around for some breakfast, and usually they freeze for a moment, lifting their heads, then scatter when they hear me coming. But this noise, rustling, pattering, continued. Through the trees at the top of the rise, where our woods end and the tall grass begins, I glimpsed a fawn-colored rump. Unlike the deer, this rump was in no hurry, and as I got closer, I saw that it was our neighbors boxer, Greta. She came leaping enthusiastically when I called. It appeared she had slipped her collar, so we turned and walked back down the path headed for her house. She bounded ahead of me, turning every so often to make sure I was following. At Scott and Annies driveway, I shooed her home, and walked up the hill to our house. A few minutes later, she was on our porch, grinning at me and Mark through the front windows, as we prepared breakfast. Mark laughed, and we set out to walk her home again. Greta is older than when we first met, her muzzle is sprouting gray hairs, and shes a little heavier than she was in her younger days. But she still possesses the unique ability to sproing lightly from my side, turn in mid-air, and plant a slobbery kiss on my face. Her joy in the morning was unabashed and infectious. And Mark thought she was hilarious, as I wiped her kiss off of my cheek with the arm of my sweater. This time when we reached the head of their driveway, Annie was on the porch, waving and calling Greta, who stood for a minute, then raced toward the house, and we turned to head back home, finish our breakfast, and plan our day. Greta, unexpected and exuberant, was a great start to our Sunday morning.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 11:33:39 +0000
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