She ran circles in the house upon our return from the state park. At our house we call it frapping—frantically running around playing. She was so happy! She had had such a good time on the hike.
And I did, too. It was a dreary Northwest December day. Gray, light rain, temperatures not much above freezing. The high tide of despair was rolling in fast. Often the only container large enough for my grief is nature. “Come on, Gracie,” I said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
We hiked the Upper Loop trail at South Whidbey State Park—lots and lots of dripping moss, giant old growth trees, and eerie shapes and forms. Gracie immediately got busy sniffing for evidence of who or what had used the trail since our last visit. I got lost in the reverie of quiet, subtle beauty.
At one point she was snuffling around the entrance to a large opening at the base of a gnome-like big leaf maple. The mythology about corgis is that they are steeds for the fairies. It did not take much for me to imagine her rider tucked safely into the shadows of the old tree. And it delighted me to be connected to my sense of wonder.
At another point she hopped atop a fallen log that she proudly followed until she was at a height of about 5 feet. “What are you going to do now?” I asked aloud. She promptly jumped into my arms!
Ah, the trust—the sheer, beautiful trust of a well-loved dog. It is an extraordinary gift and on this day I really needed it.