Fly Away Home

At the back door, leash in hand, my dog's eyes asked, "You're taking me out there?" Violent winds shook the house so much that we hadn't been outside in hours. But dogs require walks--I signed that metaphorical contract when I adopted her.

I hereby promise to take my dog outside twice or more daily to address biological needs, physical fitness, and emotional health. I swear I will pause periodically to allow for the sniffing of things, including tufts of grass, cracks of sidewalks, and fire hydrants, for the therapeutic aspects of worldly aromas. I ensure that she will run until her ears flop in the breeze. I will provide periodic meetings with other dogs for the exchange of brief, secret messages that I may never hear. In good times and bad, in sickness and health, I will walk my dog (or guarantee a substitute when I can not).

On we marched into the storm amid downed tree branches and darkened homes without power. She broke in to a trot, mouth opened wide to gulp cold air. After a long smelling session at a rosemary bush on the corner, we crossed a bridge over a highway. The gust was strong that we might have been lifted off the ground. I imagined us in flight, no control of our direction, my coat billowing like a sail and her feathery fur whipping to and fro. However, I would not let go. We might be blown one block over or two hours over the Atlantic, but I made my vows.

Thankfully, she made her intentions clear and locked her legs before turning back toward home. We took a shortcut, a quicker route to a warm spot on the couch. 

Bound by law and by love.