Just a Simple Morning Walk

After taking Noah to the airport in the small hours of this morning, Malaya and I had a little morning walk.  She loves the walks, of course, and it's also part of my time for trying to watch and observe our place here.  We walked, as we often do, down the driveway, through a gate, and up back through the pasture.  She  gets to be off-leash much more now than she used to, but she knows that she gets extra freedom to run in the pasture.  On the roads we have to keep her in close formation, if not on the leash, so she doesn't suddenly take off after deer, other dogs, or horses. The pasture fence though a little flimsy, seems to stop her even when she scares up a deer.  She knows this walk well enough now that I rarely put her on leash for this route, so she dashes to the end of the driveway, doubles back, and stops hopefully at the pasture gate.  Inside, she gets the "okay!" signal and tears off at a dead run, ears back and nose down.

While she runs, sniffs, and goes through her usual routine of checking and following deer tracks, I walk a bit more slowly.  We are both observing and taking data, in our own ways.  For her, it's all smells.  Who was here last night, where did they walk, sleep, pee?  I tend to be more visual.  This morning, though,   it's a bit dark, grey, and my eyes are still feeling the 4:00 am wakeup for the airport run.  So instead of working hard to 'look' I concentrate on the feel under my feet.

Every night lately has been right at the edge of freezing, and there's a rim of ice on fences and gates, but no ice on the ground.  The bare patches have a bit of crunch; top layers of soil breaking up nicely from a freeze-thaw cycle. I wonder how deep it goes, whether it will help the compacted soil work up more easily in the spring, when we start to work up garden ground.  In the low corner, where the thistle is thick and the soil seems to stay more wet, the under-foot is soft and spongy.

The paths worn by the horses are firm, and I follow one along the row of black walnut trees back toward the house. Sensing the possibility of breakfast, Malaya comes tearing from the far corner and waits smiling at the gate; together, we walk home.