Zoe woke me up at 4:45 this morning with one little bark, and then we headed out so she could do her business, as they say. She tore down those stairs. Still has her priorities intact, although honestly I wouldn't care one bit if she gave up on the rules. I fell back to sleep near her downstairs and dreamed she was chasing a beagle up a steep hill, running at full speed. She's always in my dreams. The other night we were in London on a busy city street with double decker buses zipping past us. Sometimes my dreaming self forgets I have a dog, and then there she is. She's never on a lead, and my worry in the dreams sometimes is that she'll stray too far from me and end up in traffic. Or that where I'm going in the dream won't be a place where dogs are allowed in and that she'll have to wait for me for a long time outside. But we always find each other. She's always close. And for some odd reason, I've never checked in my dream to see if she has four legs or three.She's in the grass now as I write. We were on the balcony, but something has upset her stomach and she wants to be close to the grass. My plan today is to just be with her without the distraction of writing, reading, or anything else. To just be. To see the world with her eyes, to follow her gaze to the tiger lilies lit up by the sun along my neighbor's stretch of river bed, the blue heron soaring above, the men working on the bridge across the river, the robins and squirrels, the shadows and light.
Namaste, gentle readers. Namaste.
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