(Friday, December 5, 2014)
I’m tagging along on a great journey with two other women. On foot. An athletic, dark-haired woman is the travel guide. She is energetic and a bit masculine. She is instructing the other woman in a friendly, enthusiastic way. Neither of them pays me much attention.
The trail follows alongside a quiet, meandering river. Green rolling hills. There are no buildings or cars, no signs of civilization. I have dreamt of this place before. The guide points out how sweet and healing the air is next to the river. I am grateful for the medicine.
We reach our destination and begin to cross a short wooden boardwalk that leads to a wood-framed house. A cold, shallow brook runs beneath the walkway. Horrified, I notice three small spaniel pups sleeping in a bed of long grass with their noses just under the surface of the water. Their mother naps a short distance away, on the edge of the bank. Her nostrils are above the spring-fed water.
I pull each of the black and white spotted pups from the streambed, overjoyed to find them still alive. The other women made no notice of the endangered animals. They are already in the house.