Open Writing

It was a clear morning in December, the pale blue sky dappled with a few puffy clouds on the western horizon. The water in the dam was a silver mirror amidst the fields of springy grass. We had walked to the picnic spot from the resort, and my guide dog Lulu was happily sniffing among the wild flowers for grasshoppers and beetles.

Now, going on holiday is a rather rare experience for my Labrador. Two years earlier, I had brought her to the same resort, but I doubted whether she remembered it. The horses were still alarming to her, the cat which visited our chalet still made her hackles rise, and the sight and sound of water flowing over the weir still made her slightly nervous. Although off the lead, she only made little circuits around my bench. While she wagged her tail and tossed her head with glee, she behaved like a city wimp.

My husband announced that he was going to take a walk toward the corner of the dam where the stream entered via a series of rocky pools. This gave Lulu courage to venture further, and before long she was out of sight and earshot, scouting the land between us with doggy determination. I reclined lazily on the bench, enjoying the feel of the sun on my back and listening to the ducks and distant Christmas beetles in the trees.

A pounding sound made me look up, surprised. I half-expected to see a horse descending down the hill, but it was Lulu, galloping at full speed towards me from the corner where the stream entered the dam. She wobbled to a halt, then pushed her way beneath my legs to let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was back. I guess she may have been checking to see whether she was in trouble, but I congratulated her in excited tones on her fast run. As if safely reassured, she then tore off again towards my husband.

This little game went on for some time. Lulu was thrilled at the freedom we had afforded her after a good couple of days of being tied up in and around our chalet. Though all I could really see of her was her creamy form and her tail waving like a flag, I could picture her lolling tongue and laughing eyes from cartoons I had watched as a child, and the impression of joy it gave me was heartwarming.

Then … oh boy! She discovered paddling! My husband had been trying to urge her into the water for some time but with no success. Then, finding a wading spot a few feet from my bench, she sloshed into the muddy shallows. I could hear her plopping around, emerging onto the bank, shaking herself off, and then plopping around some more. When she came panting back to me, I made celebratory noises which encouraged her to go deeper into the water, and soon she was up to her ears in Labrador heaven!

Then she galloped off again, leaving me to wonder at the sheer abandonment of a dog in nature. What, I mused, would it be like to run like that? It had been years - perhaps as many as forty - since I had run with complete confidence and abandonment. Would I never again know the ecstasy of such freedom and speed?

Not physically, that's for sure. But life has its depths. Outer space is countered by inner space, just as the pale blue sky is countered by the secret contours of the submerged landscape below the shining surface of the water. Everything that happens outwardly can be reproduced inwardly.

Lulu's pounding paws over the rocky ground … well, don't you know, they echo my thudding heart. And her wild, delirious circuiting after her paddle in the dam … that's the spinning of my spirit into rapture. And her happy, exhausted collapse at my feet after rolling and shaking off the watery traces of her swim … that's me, inside, coming to rest in the fullness of being - content.

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