observations of my young dog.
|What are your thoughts, Tasha?
You hold my gaze with small brown eyes set evenly in your petite black face. Long gray hairs spring up along the bridge of your nose and a wiry white goatee graces your chin. Despite the features that would age a man, you are youthful-- still a pup. The twinkle in your eyes and perked up ears hint at the abundance of action ready to burst forth.
You are attentive to me as we walk outside, I praise you as you turn your head to check my position. I have hopes, no, plans to train you in obedience with more success than I had with Toby. Already two years old, and a stray when he came to us, Toby's beagle instincts and hunter's nose were stronger than any desire for treats that I might use to entice him. He readily escapes the confines of the house and explores the neighborhood with no acknowledgement of me as I call him and try to woo him to return. He remains endearing with his indoor playfulness and desire for petting. Soulful eyes and mournful baying are his contribution when our sons play the piano.
Before your arrival, just two weeks ago, Tasha, Toby delighted in pestering 13-year old Bear into short games of chase- He assumed the "play with me" position of front paws spread and head and chest low to the ground as his mouth gaped in a silly grin and his tail waved exuberantly.
Now, you are the instigator as you jump on his back and tumble over him followed by a gleeful dance of invitation.
I chuckle as I watch you two charge down the hall and slide around the kitchen island. After several rounds of this race, I smile at the serenity you both exude- stretched out on the floor in a patch of sunlight to nap.
I think I know what is in your mind, little Tasha. I agree, it is good to be alive.