Dogs and Bones
an excerpt
Out on the field this morning, in the crisp air, on the squishy green turf, throwing a stick for my dog, I took the plunge into conversation with other dog owners--usually I avoid such contact with strangers: it’s too random, too unpredictable. I don’t give my husband Hiram much credit--though I certainly should--for being able to forge these bonds, so different from the ones I’ve forged in the relative comfort and safety of my workplace or my running group. I plod along through life, keeping it all on a very tight leash.
It’s Hiram who frees Yukon, our spirited Akita-cross, at the periphery of the baseball diamond; exhilaration wells up in me and breaks forth in the triumphant cry, “Release the hounds!” At this moment, I feel connected to the sheer power of that canine romp past third base, across the stretch of cleat-stamped ground that separates us from the social group of various unknown specimens of man and beast in the centre of the green space of Trafalgar Park.
