Part 3: The happiness of dogs far outweighs the poop.
The
dogs are ready to go before she slides back the bolt.
‘Stay…’
She checks her pockets for the roll of poo bags. ‘It’s not the best part of the
walk,’ she confides, ‘but: necessary. Heel!’
They
surge out like one many-legged animal, some kind of dog-centipede, jostling
behind her, till they reach the field and she lets them roam. She loves the way
they plunge nose to grass, as though the field is brand new to them.
The
dog pen re-secured, Claire fetches the hand trowel, a trug for collecting weeds
and a straw hat to shade her eyes. The earth is soft to touch, lightly damp,
warm, aerated. Sometimes a welcome shelter of cloud drifts between her and the
sun. She watches the cloud shadow cross the yard, wonders where it will go from
here. The trug is filled and lugged to the compost box, once, twice, many
times; she sets herself a rhythm of work; loses herself in it until her stomach
tells her it might be an apt time for ingesting lunch.
i am trying to remember this--as we don't have a dog at this time--but may be thinking about it in the near future--i have always had dogs in the past :)
ReplyDeleteThere is a deep deepness to this life Claire is leading that I think most the harried moderns lack and, somewhere where it counts, crave.
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of my dogs. They act like this whenever they get taken on walks.
ReplyDelete:-D
"The happiness of dogs far outweighs the poop." My own life-experience compels me to accept this as an axiom.
ReplyDeleteMany thanks for thoughtful comments dear readers. Have just returned from a dog walking session, so am full of canine joys :-)
ReplyDelete