Today, our dog, Liam, is ten years old. Right now he is snoozing by my desk, but soon we will be going for a nice long walk in the woods. And luck is with us today. The weather has lost its bite—the frost is even mostly gone from the windows—and it won’t be painful to bundle up and go outside.
I remember bringing Liam home ten years ago, when he hid under the table because he was so scared; when his little head moved back and forth as he watched the pendulum on the kitchen clock; when he raced madly around the house after I gave him his first bath. And after he lost his fear, what a Tasmanian devil Liam was. Lord, just thinking about his seemingly boundless energy makes me tired. Somehow, though, I kept up with him.
At ten, Liam is no longer a Tasmanian devil, but he is still an energetic dog who would like to be out from dawn until dusk. Winter is hard on him, and December, January, February, and March are restless months, even though he gets a nice long walk on all but the coldest days.
But spring is coming, and I do believe it’s his favorite time of year. The winter confinement is over, and Liam can do what he loves best—supervise as I do spring chores. He’d love it, I know, if we had forty acres and he could be out all day with someone working the land.
Instead, Liam has to make do with his fenced-in half acre and a person who likes to putter. Still—and I know it’s dangerous to judge—he seems like a happy dog.
Anyway, happy, happy birthday to Liam. May he leap and run and bark for many more years.
Later—We did indeed get out for a nice long walk in the woods. I took my camera with me, as I always do. Both Liam and the woods are so photogenic.