I recently hauled myself out of bed during one of the dark, cold hours of the morning so that I could be stuffed into an airplane with 900 other passengers on Christmas Eve and shipped over the course of nine hours to Idaho, and the only reason I did this was to see my parent’s new puppy.
That’s him chewing a strand of carpet he pulled out all by himself.
Sure, I also saw my family and we did Christmas things, but the rest of the time I took the puppy- I called him Derpy in my head- out for walks through quiet, snowy solitude, something I have greatly missed.
Never in New Jersey can you look this far and see nobody. There’s a whole mountain behind that wall of mist.
The thing about living on the east coast, as I may have said before, is that it’s crowded. It takes some effort to find a place where you can’t hear traffic. There’s no readily available fields for me to bound over or mountains for me to climb. In fact, where I live is as flat as the no I give the kids when they ask to bring worms inside.
So it was great to have the ability to take a young dog and just walk.
He doesn’t need to be leashed, because he gets nervous if you’re not within easy nipping distance.
You can almost hear his little brain deciding there might be dogs in there.
Every day on the east coast I feel a little itchy and restless, like I’m some kind of mouse living in an owl society. There’s nowhere to run that wouldn’t take a day or move of driving. I’m not sure how everyone here is comfortable living so close to everyone else.
So when I have the opportunity to come back to Idaho, it’s exciting just to have all the wide open spaces again. Also a puppy.
Really, you ought to just go find yourself a puppy and a lot of countryside, I think. It does wonders for the soul.
Or, actually, you can stay in the city and I’ll live in the country and never see you, which is better.