Winter

Winter Pleasure

(farmgirl style)

When the snow fall was heavy the sheep made determined trails through it and the pasture looked like the quilt that lay on the bed in the guest room that once belonged to Grandma. It was a good time to work inexperienced collies because the sheep were very obstinate about which trail they followed and a young dog learned about his power over stock as he forced them off their desired path. Driven by his great need to balance the woollies to his master, the black and white dog forged through the heavy blanket pushing the flock ahead of himself.   It was a good time for a green handler, too, because the snow slowed down the action, both of stock and dog.  The picture became more clear, like the winter air. It was a time of revelation.  The woman and the dog made great strides towards understanding.

And, upon their return to the farmhouse with its toasty warmth from the old wood-burning stove, the understanding was more profound than even they had shared with the sheep in the crisp winter air.  Dog and woman, both students of the discipline, sat together in reflection, in a sort of unity, a bond built on trust and awareness and compassion.  Touching both in mind and body, his head upon her stockinged foot, with little sound uttered between them, but with a melding of spirit, they reflected on the day’s work.  Never, she thought, could she have fathomed the depth of pleasure of being alive. Her hand moved to her cheek, she felt, still, the coldness that winter had brought to her body.  She bent and touched the dog, never, she thought, could an animal bring passion to such a season.  The dog, so tired from his day’s labor, raised his head, looked deeply into her soul, and licked her hand. There was nothing that could have made the moment more perfect.

I am so humbled by the love of a dog.

copyright 1997