As Mr Dog and I walk the neighborhood, barks come in fits and spurts. Perhaps the yap yap yap of the small dog in the upper window. The big woof from the bay window, of a dog we never see. Mr White Snow, a big white dog that likes to quietly sneak and then snarl before exploding into a cacophony of barks that Mr Dog always delightfully replies. His fur raises, tail wags, pulls at the leash. I stand grounded in my jeans and flip flops. We slowly, quietly withdraw. Across the street we are taken by surprise with ferocious barks, a dog we haven't heard before.
And I think this dog walk, these barks, these attempts at raising our hackles is not unlike our emotions in meditation practice. They come, with such intensity, we sometimes get on the rollercoaster ride. Or sometimes we let them go. We watch them. We stay grounded. We laugh at them. Maybe we snatch the energy and snarl back, barking with the delight of faux conflict. Sometimes too, I shush them. Bay window dog knows me and quietens his mind when I shussh him. This morning he merely chuffed twice when we walked by his window. Perhaps to say hello, I see you.
DD and I walk our neighborhood. We know the dogs. This is our turf, at least for this moment, he sniffs the grass, I breathe the air and look to the sky, for a glimmer of the waning moon or to watch the airplane that has just taken off at LAX.
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