At the bus stop, coffee resting at my feet so that I can write, the sun still shaking aside the clouds Moon tucked around her edges last night. There’s nothing to keep her from the process and nothing to demand it, save the rustling movement of a planet in the throes of revolution.
I walked out of the house and down three steps this morning to reach the sidewalk. That was as far as I got in my initial foray to fresh encounter the world. I hit the sidewalk and became the sole object of love and adoration on the part of an intensely flurfy (think fluffy meets smiling meets kind meets tongue hanging out the side and panting for joy nearly all of the time) senior golden retriever named Savannah.
For reasons only discernable to the canine community, Savannah made like a magnet for the better part of my right leg, leaning, shoving, digging her pinfeather soft forehead into my thigh. Then she sat on my feet.
“Um, good morning. I think your dog likes me.”
The dog was in “Scratch-me-pet-me-oh my goodness does life get better?” ecstasy while the owner was in a caffeine craving morning stupor.
After a moment of worshipful ear rubs and neck smoothing, I thanked the owner and moved away.
You could almost hear the “Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy…what’s next, what’s next?” as Savannah gathered her fur and led the way toward coffee.
Somehow I think there is value to approaching the world in a way that is so straightforward and obvious.
Old dogs can teach new tricks.
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