Many of the brightest threads in my tapestry of memories are woven from the slender strands of human connection—simple yet precious moments of shared humanity: a genuine smile that tugs my lip into smiling in return, an inside joke that becomes increasingly hilarious only because we're both laughing, or simply recognizing in a stranger a kindred spirit.
~Me
~Me
Perhaps because of the cold autumn weather, I’ve been in a nostalgic mood, so I thought I’d share a favorite summer-time story. It's a favorite addition to my Precious Moment, People Puppy Moments series.
When I was first learning to slackline, one of my favorite spots was in the greenspace of my apartment complex. Just across a little stream in an open grassy area shared by my complex and a neighboring one, there were several lovely mature trees. Other than the dog walkers, I pretty much had the space to myself.
I was in grad school; my survival strategy for the academic rigors of spring semester was taking my stacks of articles, plus snacks, water, a beach towel, and my slackline and setting up shop. Alternating between reading and balancing, I often stayed out until dusk, swaying and bouncing gently in time with the fireflies…until the mosquitos drove me in or it was too dark to see the line. Yes, these were the rare idyllic days of my rigorous graduate program.
On this particular day, I’d read till I thought my brain would burst and slacklined till my muscles weren’t holding balance anymore. I lay down on the lush spring grass, propped my feet up on the slackline, and enjoyed the warm sunshine on my face.
In my blissful doze, the sound of pounding of paws barely registered in time. I sat up with a jerk as an exuberant adolescent yellow lab reached me. He’d been playing in the stream nearby and must have noticed the lovely, low-to-the-ground, accessible human and had dashed over to say hello. I laughingly tried to fend off his overtures of friendship as he jumped around—and on—me with wet muddy paws.
His owners—an attractive couple in their mid to late 30s—rushed up to rescue me from their overgrown puppy. The wife was mortified and apologetic, the husband apologetic and amused.
With a tongue lolling grin, Mr. Muddy Paws eluded them, frisking just out of reach. He must have realized that his freedom was about to be curtailed and wanted one last hurrah, because suddenly he was off like a shot back to the creek bank. He remuddied his paws and dashed straight back to me. His owners apologies—and my helpless laughter—continued as he gleefully left a few more muddy paw prints on my white shirt and sky-blue scrubs before allowing himself to be caught.
The mud stains would never fully wash out of those clothes, but I could never see them without remembering warm sunshine, a grinning, mischievous puppy, and laughing till my stomach hurt.
When I was first learning to slackline, one of my favorite spots was in the greenspace of my apartment complex. Just across a little stream in an open grassy area shared by my complex and a neighboring one, there were several lovely mature trees. Other than the dog walkers, I pretty much had the space to myself.
I was in grad school; my survival strategy for the academic rigors of spring semester was taking my stacks of articles, plus snacks, water, a beach towel, and my slackline and setting up shop. Alternating between reading and balancing, I often stayed out until dusk, swaying and bouncing gently in time with the fireflies…until the mosquitos drove me in or it was too dark to see the line. Yes, these were the rare idyllic days of my rigorous graduate program.
On this particular day, I’d read till I thought my brain would burst and slacklined till my muscles weren’t holding balance anymore. I lay down on the lush spring grass, propped my feet up on the slackline, and enjoyed the warm sunshine on my face.
In my blissful doze, the sound of pounding of paws barely registered in time. I sat up with a jerk as an exuberant adolescent yellow lab reached me. He’d been playing in the stream nearby and must have noticed the lovely, low-to-the-ground, accessible human and had dashed over to say hello. I laughingly tried to fend off his overtures of friendship as he jumped around—and on—me with wet muddy paws.
His owners—an attractive couple in their mid to late 30s—rushed up to rescue me from their overgrown puppy. The wife was mortified and apologetic, the husband apologetic and amused.
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| Of the yellow laborador pictures available on the net, this guy best captures the essence of my mischievous friend. Source: http://www.thelabradorsite.com/ |
The mud stains would never fully wash out of those clothes, but I could never see them without remembering warm sunshine, a grinning, mischievous puppy, and laughing till my stomach hurt.
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