Forced to endure the daily grind in my gray office cubicle, I can't help but revisit memories from two summers ago as I stare at the icy window-blocked sunlight.It was a lazy summer, for some reason I could afford to have no job, and most mornings were spent in the early southern sun with my brand new puppy...
Rupert and I would sneak out past the "village people" because he wasn't allowed in the apartment complex and we had to stay undercover.
We headed to his "play spot" where I brought him every morning so that he could run around and chase sticks without waking everyone up.
We left the apartment complex property, him pulling at the edge of the leash. He was a baby puppy, but he knew where we were going. When we reached the edge, I'd unclip the leash.
Then, we'd run full speed down a steep hill, he was still so small that, usually, he'd stumble over his massive paws and go somersaulting all the way to the bottom.
The sharp decline opened up into a large cleared field with strong sun, and long yellow-tipped grass that was thick and soft. A lone weeping willow tree stood in the middle.
The grass was always still wet with dew when we got there, heavy with the earthy scent of fertile Virginia soil. A fresh morning chill hovered above the ground.
We headed over to our tree.
I laid a blanket down underneath its canopy and sat down, feeling the cold from the damp soil seep into the fabric of the blanket.
Then, I'd set up Rupert's waterbowl, crack open a book and relax, settling my back against the knarled worn bark, enjoying the shards of sunlight that broke through the wispy willow fronds as they brushed the ground.
Rupert would clumsily play tug of war with the fronds as they shuffled around in the breeze. Every so often he'd tear one off and drag it away triumphantly, ears flopping as he ran with happiness.
The southern sun baked the ground slowly, chasing away the morning chills. The warmth woke up the bugs, and they would appear as floating sun specks above the tall fringe of grass.
Sometimes, a lone jogger would appear along the paved path that lined the curved edge of the field. Rupert's ears would prick up, then he'd lope off, his tail straight up in true puppy fashion, barking sharply as he bumbled towards the jogger.
The jogger would disappear out of site, and Rupert would come back, snapping at grasshoppers as they jumped up in grass he was disturbing.
Four hundred sixty-three miles away, two years later and I'd give anything to run out of work, pick up the now ninety pound dog and spend the day being lazy at Rupert's play spot.