Kinds of Honey

We had to walk today. You can’t not walk on a day at the end of November when the sun is making everything warm a little, and the air is the right sort of cool that makes a vest rather than a jacket do just fine.

So out we went, the minute I got home from the horse barn – me, my dog, and a backpack containing a bottle of juice, a chicken salad sandwich, a pear, and a tennis ball.

Though today was perfectly splendid, there must have been a fair drop in temperature during the night, because patches of water in shallow spots and near the shoreline were coated in ice.

But never mind how cold the water might still be. It won’t bother this girl any.

Here is the picnic spot where I thought I’d sit to eat:

But I should have known – I know myself well enough – after 30 seconds on the bench I felt rather inclined to be out of the way of passers-by, and closer to the nature I’d come to enjoy. So I settled against the trunk of a small tree instead.

Much better.

We saw other hikers. We greeted other dogs. We soaked in the sun and the blue, blue, blue.

We walk here now and then, down the road from where we live. The open space to the west is full of prairie dogs. Tassie perks up her ears when she sees them and hears their chirruping, squeaking little noises.

The residents of Boulder County are fiercely divided over these creatures: they multiply rapidly, invade wide swaths of land, and make holes that horses and livestock might step into. But they are rather cute-looking, living things. Those who would save them post bumper stickers reading “I brake for prairie dogs” on their cars. I tend to be caught between these views; I could argue for either stance if I felt like it. I grew up loving nearly all animals, but I have also learned to understand systems, so I admit I lean towards implementing some kind of population control. Loss of predators is a serious reality in our country, even in Colorado – and so is dealing with the severe swings in other animal populations that result.

Tassie would love to run after the prairie dogs, and I would love to let her – she can’t catch them, anyway – but the leash law folks have been cracking down lately and I can’t afford a fine. It has made my country-home cravings especially strong this week; I want a place where my animals can run, and I can run with them. No ropes required.

So we walk on, down the sidewalk that will curve back through mini-mansions and towards our apartment. A clear path. I suppose it’s nice sometimes to have something so direct. Go this way. No being caught between anything. No decisions to make or directions to assess. Is this right? You don’t have to think about it. You just follow, and let your mind rest.