Dog Diaries cont’d.

I take the dog out and wait patiently for her not to pee. She’s already changed my relationship to time and space in subtle yet fascinating ways. There are now small pockets of each day when I find myself communing with the world differently—inhabiting it differently—because I’ve taken on the rhythms of this creature. For example, when we first brought her home, I worked the night shift. Which is to say, I took her outside to do her business whenever the need arose. Or what I assumed was the need; sometimes, I was mistaken. But more often than not, any nocturnal pacing, sniffing, or whimpering signaled a bathroom break. And so, bizarrely attired in pajamas and a parka, I would stand shivering beneath the half moon in the dead of night while Tosca squatted in the shadows, her head turned away from me in a touching semblance of modesty. It was then I realized that I’d never actually been out in my yard at 3am before. How still it was, how inky and many elbowed the trees appeared, how quiet. I found myself immersed in an unexpected moment of solitude and reflection that would have otherwise been filled with fitful sleep, and I felt grateful for it. Although Tosca’s now fully potty trained and can go the entire night without needing to be let out, these moments still crop up at other times. Like this morning, when I stood in a downpour while she flatly refused to do the same, waiting. Musing. Getting wet.