Last week a friend and I made plans to go out for a short walk. I waffled about taking my dog Rudi with me, as I had errands to run afterwards and having him with me would inhibit completing them – although it was clear we both could use the exercise. We have been serious couch potatoes.

Like me, he tires a bit quicker these days, so we don’t venture out as far or energetically as we once did. He’s an attentive dog, a good boy (“Who’s a good boy?”). While walking through woods and open spaces in the past, I would only leash him if there were other people or dogs in the area, otherwise he has been free to meander alongside, getting some good sniffing and exploration in. He pretty much stays right next to me without the need for a leash, has excellent recall, and also an awareness that he serves as a (sort of) service/hearing dog, so even if he runs ahead a little bit, he is constantly turning around, checking, stopping and waiting should I fall behind. He never goes too far and never leaves my sight.

Sometimes I would let him loose in a field or dog park to burn off some energy, where he would take off like a speeding bunny, bounding in circles around you until he tired himself out. But over the years he has slowed down and has stopped being interested in running or playing very much, just wanting to sniff and stop to obsessively mark his territory every few feet.

These days I have chosen to be more restrictive of his freedom for a number of reasons. Hawks are the biggest issue. Yes, he is small enough to be lifted by a hawk, and even if they didn’t get too far with him, being struck by those powerful, sharp talons or being dropped is enough to damage or kill. Last year near where my daughter lives, an owl actually attacked and took a small dog. An owl! Second to that are the coyotes, plentiful around here, and which I have encountered. They will snatch a small dog, even if you are standing nearby. Tragically, this just happened to a little dog in my town last year, in their own yard, with the owner just a few feet away. The knowledge of that sad incident actually haunts me.

So back to last week, as I was leaving the house, Rudi gave me an imploring look, which clearly said, “Don’t leave me behind.” Actually, every single time I leave the house I get that “You’re Leaving Me???” look of incredulity, but for some reason, this particular look was in unusually Very Big Print. One look at his face had me (with only the smallest of a sigh) scrapping the after-plans and grabbing a zip leash.

We walked along a well-defined path, which briefly entered a stand of trees and then emerged from the woods, eventually opening up to a wide field. It was there where a wild force within suddenly overtook him.

A crazy case of The Zoomies – the likes of which I have not seen happen to him in a long, long time – ensued. The dog was whipping around as far as the extension of the long zip leash would allow, running circles around me, leaping up into the air and yipping.

There was nobody around but us. I checked the very blue sky for hawks and saw none. And then I released him.

There is something about unbound joy. He streaked off like a jackrabbit, then hurtled toward me at a full gallop. It was the closest thing I have ever seen to a dog outright laughing with delight. It set me laughing too, such overwhelming, contagious happiness. I was so taken aback and fixed in those seconds that I did not even think to raise my camera and take a shot of the moment.

As he swooped towards me again, we suddenly made explosively connected eye to eye contact that felt almost telepathic, a look that could not be mistaken for anything but both exhilaration and love. I cannot explain it, but there it was. In that moment, an intensely vivid memory hit me – I know that look.

It was of my daughter, many years ago,, a time that seems like a lifetime ago. She was just learning to ride a bicycle. We needed some wide open space that was not dirt roads, woods, or big hills to let her practice. So I threw her bike into the back of the car and we took off for the local state park, which had a large, empty parking lot. It was mid-week and nobody else was there. She wobbled. She fell. She got up and tried again. And then suddenly I let go, she took off, and she was riding.

The light of sheer triumph and elation shining from her eyes and into mine was so powerful that I almost cried. The golden afternoon light served to highlight the ecstatic energy flowing from her being. I did not have a camera with me then in order to capture her radiance in that moment. I did take a snapshot of her still-glowing face as she proudly straddled her bicycle – after we arrived back home. But those seconds in time at the parking lot had already passed, dissipating like the briefest of precious rainbows, relegated to a visual image that remains etched into my brain and burned into my heart that will last my entire life.

It might sound extremely odd, but that was the exact look in my dog’s eyes as he ran towards me in the field that day. Radiated bliss. Unbridled joy. Love. Words between people – and animals – are not always necessary. Telepathic magic? I truly believe so. How odd, and interesting; the child, the dog, the same.

Rudi and I have been out on some longer walks a few times since, but he hasn’t had the urge to do any zooming, having resumed couch potato status. Perhaps Spring fever might overtake him some other day, as we cruise into April.

~*~