Yesterday was quite special. As I went out in the rain with Pony, I felt a strange calmness about us, although I was running a good half hour late. As we went out, Nenny looked on, seemingly without protests — I know she doesn’t like to walk on wet grounds.
I could tell that the fine spray of falling rain wrought its magic on Pony. He was surprised, yes, but a lot less jumpy than his usual self. We crossed the first bend where there’s a lot of traffic and people and then I unleashed him. I looked on after him as he sauntered ahead and waited for him to turn around and come running back. I love that. I love it when they come running back to me and hug me with their dirty paws.
The roads smelt different. And for the first time I realised that I could see the faraway trees and clouds straight down the road. I wondered about all the things I miss noticing everyday and of which I may never know but for mornings like this. While I ambled along in a kind of swoon, it started pouring. One or two people hurried by in bicycles, staring at me. So I thought it better to cover my head with the hood of the jacket I was wearing. Pony stopped for me while I tied a knot round my neck.
It was my husband’s jacket. He sleeps every morning while I go about walking my dogs, drinking coffee, doing chores. At this rate he will never know of such magical mornings. Perhaps it doesn’t mean much to him. It’s fair, I thought, for people to think nothing of a human being exchanging notes with an animal on the metaphysical quality of rains.
Pony found a perfect spot for pooing — right in front of a gate leading to a huge football field where dogs aren’t allowed. Where we live, they don’t allow dogs in any field or park. I used to take them to an untended ground earmarked as government property; Nenny and Pony made some doggy friends there, but recently they’ve put up a gate there as well, and locked it.
“What are they walling in and walling out?” I wondered without being able to recollect the poet’s name. No help there. Therefore, I turned my attention back to Pony. He was obviously loving every bit of life without the leash. I thought of my lost cat — it wrung my heart. For the umpteenth time, I looked at Pony and noticed how big he’d got — that wobbly little fella I’d fallen in love with.
I’d rather the morning went on and we’d never had to turn back. But I knew Nenny would be looking outside the window waiting for her turn. And reluctantly, we tugged along the road back home.