The Long Regard
Earlier this week I let Berkeley out and forgot him.
Berkeley is a standard poodle, large and gray and curly, and we call him Bezerk-ely. As a puppy he was untrainable, completely. He only listens when he agrees the proposition is a good idea. He has figured out how to open his crate and leave it whenever he pleases. He does what he wants. He distrusts strangers with conviction, though in his older years he has softened toward many of them. The exceptions are Amazon and the UPS, who remain a standing threat to the household.
He is a Stage 5 clinger, and five is the worst. He has no sense of personal space and has never wanted one. Wherever I am, he is within leaning distance.
When he demanded to go out, I assumed a comfort break. He would be back at the door in a few minutes, announcing himself, as always. I went back to what I was doing. An hour went by, maybe more. The dog who has never once let me forget him, and I forgot him.
When I finally looked out, he lay in the shade of the tree nearest the house, staring at the pond. Beyond the water the church stood white against the hill, and the maples behind it had begun to turn, a few reds among the green. Leaves came down onto the grass and the water, one and then another.
Calm, he took in the church, the water, the slow sweep of the hillside. Unless he is lounging in my spot on the bed, he is rarely that calm indoors.
As I opened the door to look for him, the sound of the hinges drew his attention and he came to inspect.
I have not asked him what he was doing. He is a dog. He may have been thinking about the UPS driver. For an hour he had not once come to find me.
Out over the water the leaves kept coming down, and he watched every one.
A Prayer
God of the shade and the long regard, who made creatures that cannot ask what attention is for, and who is present in the hour nobody is counting: loosen our grip on the center of every room. Teach us to lie down under some tree you planted, and to look at the water and the hill and the falling leaves until the looking becomes our way of loving you. With Christ, who keeps us company at the water's edge and is in no hurry to leave. Amen.
