She got dependant on me a long time ago when we lived
overseas. One time we were rambling up in the mountains.
She was standing on the edge of a cliff when the ledge
gave way and she got a fast and bumpy trip down. She
might be there yet if I hadn’t been along. I immediately
went to the place where she had landed and checked her
out. She moaned and groaned and complained, but we
couldn’t stay where we were. That place had a lot of
vipers, and after dark those trails had a lot of traffic
from two-legged vipers. I kept nudging her until she sat
up. She finally got on her feet, but didn’t seem to
stand steadily. She held on to me and with her helping
as she could, (but just between us, not much), I managed
to scratch and scramble my way back to the top, dragging
her along. She leaned on me and partly hobbled, partly
sat and slid until we got back into town. From that time
, I've realized that she's not all that bright and I do
need to look after her. When we at last got to town, she
hailed a taxi and we rode on home.
As I mentioned, running is number one with me. Any time,
any place, anywhere. However, when there’s no way to run
, or when you’re really dog tired, there’s nothing quite
like sitting with your head out the window of a taxi,
wind blowing your ears back and all those intriguing
smells titillating your nose.
We do have a lot to be thankful for here in the U.S.
But I had always heard it was the land of the free. For
me and for my friends, when we arrived here, it became
the land of the fenced. The old woman may think she is
free. Perhaps she is. But she seems to go off in that
car almost every day without us, and seldom seems to
have time for the kind of rambles we all enjoy so much.
As for me and my friends, we lost our freedom when we
came here. Still, we count our blessings. In spite of
leashes and fences and tags on our necks, we are all
together. For us, as with most friends, that’s the most
important thing.