Yesterday, I decided that I was up to a two mile walk, having been walking faithfully each day for several weeks now. My only regret is that I can't take the little dog with me, for various reasons. In any case I had walked into the Berea Cemetery five days ago and thought at the time that I could probably do my old running route of 2.1 miles: leave the house, run down to the Cul-de-sac, around and back past the house, out to the street, up the steep hill which is Forest street, then straight on to the cemetery, once around, then follow the same route back to the cul-de-sac. I was doing well (I had a great urge to write good there, doing good) and had just left the Cemetery when a little old lady passed me on my left. A little old lady moving faster than I was moving, which, of course, is not difficult to do any more. But still. She passed me without saying a word. Didn't even look over at me. I was so shocked that I was unusually speechless too. I don't like to walk with people, usually, unless he is a dear friend, but I always speak to those who pass, one way or the other. But here silence prevailed.
Last week Simon and I were on the trail just finishing our mile and three-tenths walk (the trail had not been cleared of snow and ice and it was treacherous). We were bringing up the rear, so to speak, when we met a man going the other way. He wanted to know if he could pet Simon. Since Simon, like his owner, is willing to exchange greetings with whomever he meets on the trail, man, woman, or fellow dog (though that meeting--fellow dog--starts out nose to nose, it eventually involves nose to butt, then back to the walk, no lingering), we stopped and he petted Simon for a bit. Simon broke it off first and went back to looking around and stretching out the sixteen foot lead. I stayed a bit, for the man seemed determined to talk, and the social entity held me for a little. I would not be rude. The man had had two dachshunds, a red female, Mable, and a black male, Jake. The female seemed much in the past, but Jake had recently had to be euthanized, and Jake had been the stranger's close companion. Having to have your close companion put down is excruciating, an event the person who truly loves the dog never really gets over. I sympathized, mentioned Pookie, and listened for as long as I could, made my excuses and moved on.
I turned once after a little later and saw a lonely figure walking by himself into the distance. He knew they were dachshunds and not "wiener dogs"; most people we meet on the trail don't seem to know, or if they do, prefer the "fun" of the disparaging term. This man knew, though he did not want to get another dachshund now. The memory of Jake seemed to be enough to sustain him, though I suspect that he did not want to commit himself to another love relationship because of the vulnerability and eventual pain. Or perhaps he thought that would be a betrayal of Jake. Every time you choose to love a fellow furry creature, you realize that time is scarce. Simon, like me, has slowed down, though he is very quick when a squirrel is involved, and that people pass him is usually my fault. Fortunately he does not seem to mind. Our other three beasts are happy to race ahead with Mary. Schuster pulls hard on the lead trying to keep up with the more or less free-ranging Frollie, but Schuster is just a lad, of course. In any case, my meeting with the lonely man on the trail has reminded me of Buber's comment: "real living is meeting." C. S. Lewis used that as a chapter title in his novel, That Hideous Strength.
And in the cemetery there is a gravestone with our family name on it. Our granddaughter, Isabelle, is buried there, and someday Mary and I will be there beside her too. In the Renaissance the intellectual or philosopher kept a skull on his desk to remind him of his mortality.
Interesting, I had a number of things to write about but have gotten to only one. Since Simon has been present in this one, I will tell of his recent ordeal. Last week. He was behaving strangely, not drinking at the water bowl, even though he would try. He would stand there with his head hanging down, then leave without a sip. Sometimes I would find him trying to rub the side of his muzzle with his foot. At first I thought he had a piece of food stuck along the side, but I could not find anything. Something was wrong. We took him to the vets to make sure it wasn't a rotten tooth, or diseased gums. The vet found a small piece of a yogurt wrapper stuck between two front teeth. It was the color of the teeth. For heaven's sake Simon! The idea is to lick the container and leave it.
We made an appointment to have his teeth cleaned the next day. Vulnerability. Anesthesia. Will he be okay? He should be ready to go home about two, they said. They'll call. Two passed. Three passed. I called. Simon was fine, just a little groggy from the drugs. We got to pick him up a little after four. He had an antibiotic to take and was not to go up or down stairs the rest of the day. Certainly. We understand. He was a little hoarse, but he managed to bark at several things on the way home. Once home, we tried to walk him in the front yard before going in the house; the first thing he did was pull Mary down our steep driveway as if he were going for a walk. On the street I took over and though groggy, supposedly, he was determined to walk, almost to the end of the street, where I picked him up and turned him around pointed in the direction of home.
At home we put him on the sofa, under a blanket, his favorite position. Ten minutes later someone rang our doorbell. Like DC's The Flash, Simon was off the sofa and tearing down fourteen stairs to the front door ahead of the other three. Then he turned around and raced back upstairs. So much for his restrictions. He is, of course, a dachshund. He is still on schedule with the pills and got to lick my two Chobani raspberry containers this morning, but not chew them. All is as well as it can be. Even the sun is shining at the moment. I guess I shall go for a short walk now, see if the pileated wood pecker is talking to God today. Bang bang bang!