Every evening our dog, Taffetta, rousts me out cyberspace with a sudden howl or stares at me with big brown eyes until I unplug myself from the satellite or even tongue washes me until I get up out of bed, forcing me to leave that cheap, soul-wasting, conspiracy thriller and take her for an evening walk.
Sometimes, I mutter "Not this evening, Taff. I'm just too tired.. .We'll walk longer tomorrow. . .and I'll let you sniff the lamp posts as long as you want."
Jump up. . .jump down. . .wag tail. . .wag again. . .bark. . . barking. . .dance. . .dance around. . .look at me with those beautiful, deer-like eyes, that expectant face. . .Is that a tear, Taff?. . .You're supposed to be a dog, not a crocodile. . .
In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. ~John Muir, western American naturalist
So, here we are on the sidewalk outside our house. . .yes, that's right, I gave up and now the "tyke" is straining at the leash. You'd never know that this cocker spaniel/beagle mix of a dog that we delivered from the local animal shelter (another story) weighs just thirty pounds. She pulls like a muscle-bound mastiff. I wonder again: Just who is walking whom here. I wouldn't even be here if it were not for my desire not to disappoint Taffeta.
Fortunately, we live in Beaverton, Oregon, nicknamed "City of Trees." Our neighborhood streets are lined with trees of every type from spruce and fir to plum and even the ancient species known as Ginkgo. Blessedly, we are only a few steps from a wonderful though somewhat small park.
As we walk toward the park, I feel a cool breeze on my cheeks. The sky is a peaceful, but dusky blue with some shades of pink and purple in the west. Already, my head begins to clear. For the thousandth time, I wish that I could take Tafetta off the leash and let her run free, but alas, she has no "street smarts" and follows her nose blindly.
My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing. ~Aldous Huxley, English author of "Brave New World,and other novels and essays
Our usual walk borders two churches with appealing architecture and beautifully landscaped grounds lined with rhododendron, rose bushes and various shrubs lined around the ever present firs of the Pacific Northwest with another common species, the paper birch standing here and there in the twilight like gray-white ghosts.
| Here's the follow-up discussion on this article: | View all related messages |
For a complete listing of article comments, questions, and other discussions related to Thomas James Martin's Care of the Soul topic, please visit the Discussions page.