Sunday – A Walk in the Park

We never walk fast enough for the dog. She wants to plough ahead, follow the scent, leave her own – you have to notify your neighbours of your intent and territory – and get to it all. Break new trails, seek out the unknown, repair the old; meet and greet and move on, satisfied that they (your kindred walkers, of four legs and two) know the rules of engagement.

The final decision, when to head for home and the treat, is her choice. We can only follow her lead. Of course, if it’s cold, or wet, or too hot, the walk is shorter – cut through here, go around this dam, not the big one, force the march up this sixty degree slope – cuts off minutes – and the left, left, left again is always heading for home.

Grab the treat, chuck it in the air, chase it down, hide it from the other residents – eat, eat, eat (the hunt, catch, kill, gorge is all wolf and we should understand that). Done.

Steal the best spot on the couch, scratch that blanket into the proper den-shape, settle in for the nap. When the sun shines in that window, with the spare blanky, lift the dozy body and drag it into the window for the daily sun-bath.

And that’s the life of a dog (Wolf!), sorry – wolf.

Regardless of the size of the dog, every heart that beats in the canine chest, is the heart of a wolf.