My black dog Pip, now three and a half years old, fears not cold, snow or rain. For him it is all an adventure. The only thing he doesn’t like is sitting inside with me while I work. I have to admonish him, “Be a good writer dog, Pip,” which he seems in a limited way to understand.
Friday morning we went on a walk by Tesuque Creek where the first snow of the season is melting. It seems that cold and snow bring out all kinds of delicious scents on the trail—what creature passed here during the night? Coyote? Bear? Mountain Lion? Bob Cat? All but the coyote are seldom found this close to Santa Fe, although a mountain lion was discovered a week ago at a more remote trail feasting on a dead cow—and then on someone’s little dog.
The best thing about the Little Tesuque Trail, from my point of view and from Pip’s, is that it is one of the few trails here where he can go off-leash. I love his transport of happiness as he flies down the trail in front of me, using some of the energy that makes him so restless at home. He stops to look back for me at every curve or intersection, and he’s pretty good about coming back when I shout, “Come, Pip!”… most of the time.
He met a challenge this morning in the shape of a small vicious dog—the small ones are always the worst—with a larger dog (and two dogs are always more problematic than one) both off leash coming down the trail toward us. The small vicious dog jumped on Pip, snarling, while the big dog played backup. But Pip is a realist, and he knew there was nothing he could do in the face of two dogs. He stood absolutely still, frozen, while the woman screamed at her dogs ad apologized. And we walked on.
What a good example he sets for me in this veil of tears. Love the moment, and avoid small vicious beings.
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