Saturday, In The Park

Saturday morning and not a car sat in the parking lot, nor a single footprint betrayed the passage of man or beast as Nicholai, Kelley, Izzy and I hit the beach for a long trek. A Great Blue Heron stood on a piece of driftwood, intent on the water until we strode within striking distance, then it flew off, prehistoric in both movement and croaking cry. A bald eagle, probably a foot tall, perched on a naked branch high in a cottonwood tree, watching our every move. As I neared his perch, trailing behind the dogs, I raised my head and said "Good morning, sir. How is the day from your vantage point?" He looked straight at me, glanced at the dogs, then back to me. His stare unwavering, he seemed quite sure of himself.

This is the gift of living with big dogs requiring big walks. I've watched late waking raccoons make their ways to daytime sleeping spots, osprey train younglings to fly, bald eagles consider – and then dismiss – dogs as prey, deer slip into the deeper reaches of the woods, and the odd coyote linger in the open on an early morning. Not the stuff of modern city life without a concerted effort, an effort required for the health and happiness of my canine companions – and coincidentally for me.

Today, I rejoice in healthy dogs. Yes, I use the term "healthy" for Nicholai. After a course of antibiotics specific to the bacteria from the salmon fluke, he is strong and energetic and seeming fully recovered, as is Kelley. If you saw him strutting along ahead of me, head and tail held high, you would not suspect cancer. If you saw Kelley today, you would know she'd had some kind of medical procedure because of her shaved belly and the neat shaved rectangle on each front leg, the remnants of her IV's and ultrasound, but her energy, like that of her adopted "brother's" is in good supply for bounding up and down the beach in wonderful doggish celebration of another day.

For a moment, I thought that my Christmas present would be to lose both dogs; my long time buddy and elder canine boy, and my unexpected, found-at-the-park canine girl; I grieved their unopened Christmas stockings and all the walks and hikes and swims we would never have. I must learn to take a cue from my present-minded dogs: live while the livin' is good and try not to dwell on a future that hasn't arrived yet. Not sure my human brain is up to that task, but the daily reminders do me a world of good.