Hopeful's happy dance

I noticed yesterday that my dog and I are pursuing opposite trajectories: she's growing more hair while I'm losing mine.

A week or so ago Hopeful came home from her usual wanderings with a bald spot on her head about the size of a silver dollar. It looked awful at first, raw and oozing, but as we've cleaned it and put on some soothing salve, it has healed up well. Now the hair is coming back thick and black.

The wound, whatever its source, has not slowed her down any. Every time I walk out the door, she comes running to see whether we're going for a walk, and if I say the word "walk," she does her happy dance all over the front porch and down the driveway. During the long weeks after my surgery when walking on our local hills was simply not possible, she spent a lot of time sitting outside the big front window and looking in wistfully, as if wondering what could be keeping me from our usual rambles. Now, though, on the days when side effects don't have me flattened by midafternoon, I'm walking whenever I can with Hopeful by my side.

Yesterday we walked all the way up the big hill near our house, which I used to do daily but I've managed only three times since June. She runs on ahead and then looks back to make sure I'm following, and if I whistle, she comes running for a treat and does her happy dance right at my feet. If I have to turn back sooner than usual, she doesn't complain. She's just happy to be out walking with me--and she makes me happy too.

Five years ago when our former dog died, I thought I was done with dogs, so when Hopeful wandered into our lives a little over a year ago, I had no intention of adopting another pet--and yet here she still is, doing her little happy dance and making me smile even when I can't manage much of a walk.

I don't want to get all sappy here, but I'm just saying: someone knew I needed a dog.