The Dog Who Brought the Woman Home
This is the story of a dog and a woman who came home.
First, the woman.
On Sunday afternoon, her head is stuck in meetings, phone calls, her calendar, which feels like it’s sagging heavy with work. She is tightly wound around the clock. She is churning: on irritation, on wanting more time, on wanting people to respect her time more.
Now, the dog.
He is a greyhound-golden retriever mix. Sleek body up on spindly crane-legs. Shaggy golden head with bark-brown eyes. And those eyes see this afternoon as endlessly important. The old apple in the gutter, the woman on the sidewalk, the smell coming off the rosebush, the wind blowing south, he delights in it all.
The woman on the sidewalk, the woman whose head is all work, sees the dog. She sees the dog that doesn’t take itself so seriously. That doesn’t cede it’s attention to things that aren’t here and aren’t now.
And the woman feels these churning parts in her start to slow. When her calendar fills, her perspective slips. She loses herself in stress and worry.
But this dog with his great light spirit brings her back to herself. Helps her to hold herself more lightly. To give her attention not solely to the clock and the calendar, but to the wind heading south, the smell off the rosebush, and the vitality of being alive on a Sunday afternoon.
And that’s the story of a dog who brought a woman back home to herself.
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