A woman, a dog and a bit of luck

Dare to declare who you are. 

It is not far from the shores of silence to the boundaries of speech. 

The path is not long, but the way is deep. 

You must not only walk there, you must be prepared to leap.

St. Hildegard of Bingen

Lucky enjoyed being in the sun, but she loved having the wind in her face. She would sit for hours on the front step, watching the kids playing in the lane, but her favourite times were when we drove out of town a ways and walked through the open countryside, the breeze keeping things fresh and clear for both of us. Lucky would trot ahead of me, looking, sniffing, exploring the world at ground level, always hoping for something exciting. Sometimes, she would get the scent of a rabbit or maybe another dog that had passed along the path earlier in the day and she would streak off to see what exciting thing she could find. But mostly she was content to stick close to me and walk as my companion in the beautiful landscape of the English Lake District. It’s where I felt most at home, having finally returned here a couple of years ago when my life took a turn and forced me to look myself squarely in the face and admit that I had, for too long, been living the wrong life.

Years earlier, I had left town to attend graduate school in the big city and then stayed there for jobs that grew into a career. I loved the work, made good friends, and even had a few romantic relationships, but I can now admit that I never really put down roots. Something in me longed for the open vista rather than the concrete jungle, and the peace of my own home with window boxes, a front step and its own gate. I managed well enough for a couple of decades, but when the expected promotion didn’t come through, the relationship with my latest beau fizzled out, and the lease came up on my flat all in the same month, I realized that I was being given as much of a second chance to leave and start over as I ever would be. So I took it, packing up the flat and my life in a matter of days and landing back in Milford Pond where I was lucky enough to find a small cottage that I could, scraping all my savings together, just about afford to put a downpayment on.

About six months in, I found Lucky at the end of the access road to my cottage, tucked into a cardboard box beside the road’s sign post. I was out for my usual morning walk and did not at first know what I was hearing but then realized it was a dog whimpering — the sound coming from the box placed at ground level, flaps firmly closed. I scooped it up and returned home at double pace, not daring to open the box flaps for fear that the animal inside might leap out.

But Lucky was, from that moment’s start of our life together, nothing if not clever. She knew that while someone might have abandoned her, this other someone had rescued her. She sat quietly in the box I had placed on the kitchen table, looking up at me as if to say, ‘Well, hello there. You look nice. Don’t I look nice? How about I stay with you?’

One look at that face, her little black nose, her black and white colouring and I agreed with her: Finders keepers. She would stay with me.

Now, I knew nothing of dogs, having grown up in a cat-worshipping household but I decided not to dwell on that and, instead, to make a leap of fluffy furry faith. After all, how different could one four-legged lovable creature be from another?

Since then I have learned there is a big difference, but never mind that detail. What is the same is that when a human heart locks fast with a small four-legged animal heart, neither being is the same and both beings do better for having the other as their companion.

There are many stories to tell about Lucky and me, but for today, this story is about how I found her and took that leap of faith to open not only my home to her, but also my heart.

One tiny tale I will tell is that every time I call for her inside or out — Lucky! Lucky! Lucky! — I feel it like an echo coming back to me: The dog is Lucky, and so am I.

***

I enjoyed creating the narrator and her dog in this story, which is fiction (though it is fact that I love the English Lake District). I wrote it in response to the quote that opens this post and to the drawing of a dog by Jenny Bloomfield; titled "Headwind", you can see it here. As I do not own rights to it, I used a freely available image of a dog in the wind by Natalia Gusakova to illustrate this post. 

............................................................................................................................................

To receive my weekly blogpost in your inbox, use the SUBSCRIBE feature (above, in the left-hand column), or email fiveyearsawriter at gmail dot com. Put SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. 

Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.

'Dog in the wind' photo by Natalia Gusakova on Unsplash