keeping company.
This morning the rain fell hardest. i drove to work without my seat belt on, thinking it was just enough rebellion for 7:30 on a Sunday. Forty-five minutes earlier I had woken up to the sounds of the Northwest out my window, and my cat stretched out like some kind of canvas beside me, face full of slumber, dreaming dreams I could only imagine. These are the mornings it’s the toughest for me to get a move on, when everything I care for is comfortable around me. Once I get going though, it’s a rush of sorts, feeling like I’m the only person I know awake at such a sleepy crack of dawn. The two minute drive to work is a straight stretch, free from lights or stops and just long enough for me to pretend I’m letting her rip on the open road, destination arguably unknown.
You think you know a dog and then you get him out in an early morning downpour and learn a new perspective on things. Some of them behave just as you would expect. Most of them don’t. The wily ones whimper at the gate and cast you doe-eyed gazes that prove they aren’t as rascally wearing a wet suit and raindrops on their nose. The more mellow ones step out of their shells, running laps and going ape shit, especially if they’re with a sibling. In particular, Bela and Marco had a brand new sparkle to their dispositions, charging each other til one ended up bottomed out on the other’s back. They resemble something like koalas, and their owners were sure to let the whole joint know that they are in fact two of only 160-something in the world of whatever the hell breed it is that crosses a marsupial and teaches it to sit.
Then there’s the old ones. These are my favorite. They gladly bebop down the ramp and through the puddles, splashing their way to a half hour of relaxation in the great outdoors. They truly could care less that its pouring buckets with no end in sight and I’m the one with the rain gear. They’ll sit near you, most often in the downpour or on the edge of the inlet where I stand with a roof over my head, just sniffing the air in satisfaction as freight trains roar by. Every so often you receive a kind sideways glance from their gray gentle faces, one that seems to say they’re happy to just be because they know it’s not for much longer. That’s when I step out from under cover and stand with them, letting the heavy fall pound my back and my shoulders and echo into my hood. They usually get comfortable with my presence then, if we haven’t met before, and honor me with a small gesture of trust. Most often they’ll lean in, slowly resting their drizzled heads just above my kneecap, giving me the go ahead that we can be pals. They’ll sit like that forever, thoroughly enjoying themselves as we both let our minds wander through the torrent around us. Little do they know I’m as pleased to share their company.