Today I was bicycling up a street where I usually get lucky at seeing dog walkers. A woman, with some kind of physical problem, was riding her electrical cart up the street. On her curb side, at a distance of three feet, ran her canine companion. His gait was happy, but steady.
At first I went into mooning-and-swooning mode over a happy dog. But this was just habit. It wasn't accurate for this particular dog. He was happy certainly, but not ebullient, as I've come to expect. He was too earnest and professional. Did his owner think she was doing her little friend a favor by letting him run with her, or was he concentrating on doing her the favor? Maybe she realized that her physical problem could be turned to advantage with the electrical cart; most dogs just get tied up in the backyard. I don't think I really appreciated his special type of aura before today: one beyond mere fun, one of responsibility and purposeful effort.
Later on the ride I ascended the draw separating two parallel ridgelines, on their way up to the ponderosa forests. The early morning sun was backlighting the cottonwood leaves. Normally I don't care too much for these trees; they are the water-wasting sybarites of the streams and dry washes of the arid West. But today they were showy Lolita-like teases with the light-greenness that new leaves have only in spring.
In a couple hours I was back home in siesta mode, listening to the allegro non troppo -- fast, but not too fast -- movement of Beethoven's violinkonzerto. Dissolving into the semi-conscious bliss of an after-lunch nap, I smiled thinking about the same qualities in that dog today.
No wonder music lovers have no real use for pretty scenery of the postcard kind: it isn't musical.
At first I went into mooning-and-swooning mode over a happy dog. But this was just habit. It wasn't accurate for this particular dog. He was happy certainly, but not ebullient, as I've come to expect. He was too earnest and professional. Did his owner think she was doing her little friend a favor by letting him run with her, or was he concentrating on doing her the favor? Maybe she realized that her physical problem could be turned to advantage with the electrical cart; most dogs just get tied up in the backyard. I don't think I really appreciated his special type of aura before today: one beyond mere fun, one of responsibility and purposeful effort.
Later on the ride I ascended the draw separating two parallel ridgelines, on their way up to the ponderosa forests. The early morning sun was backlighting the cottonwood leaves. Normally I don't care too much for these trees; they are the water-wasting sybarites of the streams and dry washes of the arid West. But today they were showy Lolita-like teases with the light-greenness that new leaves have only in spring.
In a couple hours I was back home in siesta mode, listening to the allegro non troppo -- fast, but not too fast -- movement of Beethoven's violinkonzerto. Dissolving into the semi-conscious bliss of an after-lunch nap, I smiled thinking about the same qualities in that dog today.
No wonder music lovers have no real use for pretty scenery of the postcard kind: it isn't musical.
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