Here are my dogs, with overdue haircuts. These dogs are my company, my grounding; fur and affection; sensuality and play. Every day, at least twice, they require me to leave my house and enter the living world. We walk together along the river, each noticing what is of interest to us — smells, sounds, other living things. I watch the ducks on the water, while Henry explores the base of the cottonwood and Lucy follows the trail of something long past.
Especially at difficult times, times that I feel helpless against the violence and injustice and politics of the human world, these creatures remind me to live in the moment that is given, not the moment that is desired. It is a different kind of relationship — a different kindness — than human to human. A certain attention and presence that might be useful in all encounters — if I could be as present to other people as my dogs are to me, how much better might I understand my closer cousins?
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