A winter walk with Eevee

On Boxing Day night I took Eevee for a walk. I'd had a hard few days - being beaten down and bullied over and over again in front of my coworkers and town. So many people piled on. So few stood up for me. I needed to get out and clear my head. Depression was pulling me under.

On Christmas Eve, we had a freezing rain storm. A fat sheet of ice covered a small layer of snow, and it hasn't melted yet. Roads are mostly clear, main sidewalks are clear, but walking trails are treacherous.

It was early evening, when we typically see tons of people out walking their dogs, and the occasional car goes by.  Last night I didn't see one. Not a person, not a dog, not a car. It was silent and still.

So we walked freely down the middle of the road.

Eevee was ecstatic to be ranging further than the kids normally take her. She tugged at the leash as I clomped along in Patrick's old skidoo boots. My jacket is broken - I can't do up the zipper - but even wide open it kept me warm enough against the cold. I don't like wearing headphones at night, but a comedian played on the phone in my pocket.

Where the road and walking trail almost meet, there is a picnic table under a tree. Since the night was wide and empty, I sat down at the picnic table and unclipped Eevee from her leash. 

She didn't notice for a bit. She snuffled the ground under the table and licked my hand. Her tail wagged and she lunged for it, and then realized she wasn't pulling against the leash. She looked at me, double checking that it was okay, and then bounded into the bare shrubs. Her whole body was wagging in delight while she snuffled after moles and inhaled all the stories of the day.

I laid down on the table and looked up through the tangle of branches. 

The sky was full of clouds, a dull velvet grey, and the bare arms of the tree criss-crossed against it.

At first it felt strange, lying down in public; vulnerable and weird. But it was not very public, I comforted myself, and if anyone came along I would surely hear their steps crunching through that ice. 

So I surrendered to the beauty and just enjoyed the strange loveliness. The quiet, the cool. The bounding, leaping delight of the dog off her leash. The comedian in my pocket bringing rumbles of laughter from the far side of sadness.

When the podcast finished, I sat up and called Eevee, and she came quickly, romping around me in delight. I didn't bother putting her leash on, since she was behaving so well. As we walked home, she lagged behind me sometimes, a hound dog with her nose to the ground and haunches in the air, intent on unraveling intriguing scents that wove under trees and branches. She raced ahead of me too - ears and tongue streaming out behind her as she flew down the glassy path, a quick flash of sheer delight pelting past me in the grey dark. 

There was something so satisfying in seeing her enjoy her freedom, getting a glimpse of her being her truest, gladdest self.  

I don't know how to unleash myself from sadness. 

Meds help.

Counseling helps.

Prayer helps.

Laughter helps.

But even with all of these, I still feel leashed and chained, held back and unable to follow the scents of gladness and realness that flicker and beckon out of reach.

I let her stay off leash the whole way home.