In Which Lady and I Walk Each Other and Enjoy the View

Folks have been asking me how I like my new house these days, and I stare at them blankly for a few seconds before answering. The fact is, I don't know, because I've hardly been there at all the past week and a half. I've become a sort of nomad, wandering from place to place.

For two weeks Masha and I camped out at our house, and got the heating system working a week or so into it (Thanks, Tom!). I slept in Masha's room because it was much warmer than my room. When my room had stopped producing icycles and become comfortable, I slept there one night (or part of one night) and then we were off to Zhovti Vodi for the weekend. I then visited my room once more before heading to Cheryl's to housesit while she is away. Today I'm moving in with the Crowe kids for a few days while Bruce and Deb go to Poland. We'll be spending some time with the Gollans, as well.

I like it. Several months ago I was in some sort of phsycological terror of moving. It just upended me every time I even went somewhere even for a night or two. All part of culture shock, I suppose. Now, maybe somewhat due to Spring-in-the-Air, I feel carefree and happy to be a gypsy, chucking my stuff in a backpack and strolling up the road to the next house. It's not like I'm actually camping. Cheryl's place is like a little haven to me. The Crowes' house smacks of home. And Zhovti Vodi was a pleasant, mild type of adventure.

I told Masha as threw my clothes, etc. into a borrowed backpack the day I went to Cheryl's, that I felt like a runaway. But then, my Mom doesn't mind. I already ran away from home, and mostly she's fine with that.

I feel like that commercial slogan (for what, I can't remember) "You are now free to move about the country." Free to just go and love Jesus wherever, and I hope I'll learn to truly serve.

I'm learning how to walk a dog. A large, energetic dog that could knock me over and lick me to death if the whim took it. Since I'm staying at Cheryl's house it's also my privelege to walk Lady, her huge furry beast that looks sort of husky-german shepherd-I'm not sure what else-ish.

She needed a walk desperately yesterday, so I decided to brave it. Cheryl said that maybe I'd need to get Masha (who is used to dogs) to walk Lady because I might not be able to, ah, control her. But I felt I must at least attempt to overcome my cowardice and distaste.


So Lady and I went for a walk. I'm not sure who walked who exactly, or if it was really a walk or a run or a sort of trotting treasure hunt for tasty garbage. We started off on a run with me gripping the short, rather fragile looking leash with both hands. I was laughing and my hair was flying around and the neighbors were looking up from their garden plots, a little startled.

When my heart rate was sufficiently stimulated, my charge slowed to a gentle trot. But she didn't want to stay on the road. Every dog, cat, shrub, and scrap of rubbish in the neighborhood captured her interest. However, since this gave me an opportunity to stop and breath, I didn't mind so much.

The day was gorgeous. I think spring took April seriously, because since April 1 the sun has been shining, a fresh wind blowing, and the new green trying very hard to come out. It has to work harder here than in East Texas. We walked, ran, trotted, tugged, sniffed, pulled, and cavorted all over the neighborhood, enjoying the grand view of the windswept Dneiper from the hill.

Everyone in the countryside seems to be burning their fields to be rid of the dead winter stalks, and green grass bristles up everywhere throught the blackened earth like so much fresh beard on a very large face. The sun was so warm and good and the view so intriguing that I let Lady roam at will.

The twenty minute walk turned into an hour and more as we wandered. I tugged Lady down a dirt and stone track that led past a tiny cemetery. Following it down a steep hill, we came to the river. Moss covered rocks and patches of shy purple snowdrops lay under the trees. And at a lonely place near the water a giant hunk of what used to be a barge sat sagging and rusting in the weeds. It gave me an eery feeling, especially when I got up close and peeked in the portholes at the stagnant water and ruined insides. Then I caught a glimpse of the shining wide water ahead and ran towards it, with Lady bounding along at my side. The water rolled up on the sand with a rythmic sound that may as well have been the ocean for me. I felt like I was in another world, maybe Narnia, maybe better.

The sound of water brought up some deep emotion in me, like the attachment sailors have to the sea. I just wanted to fall down on the shore and worship God. Since it's a little hard to do that when holding onto a dog leash for dear life, I just darted delightedly after Lady, who sniffed and sputtered at the water, jumping and running up and down the sand strip with great vigor and trying to drag me under dead tree branches I couldn't fit through.

Finally we started home. I'll never understand dogs. Their goal in life appears to be to get as gross as possible and be admired for it.

Lady stopped on the path, sniffing at something with ears pricked up, and then flopped herself on the ground, clearly communicating even to my untrained cerebrum, "Hey look, I found some poo! Let's roll in it!" Which she did. I let her. I watched. (Sorry Cheryl, but this canine of yours hasn't had a good poo-roll in far too long- it was for her mental health, I assure you. What do you think she does when she is off her leash?) Seriously, though, there was hardly anything there. But of course if there was even an iota of grossness, Lady was going to find it.

Ah, dogs. Ah, spring. Ah, life.