Nostalgia is a strange thing that hits you in the oddest ways. Chris and I were having a quiet walk through the pretty green space of our condo complex in Calgary. It was twilight, making the rolling lawn a dark lake, the pathways bridges to other lands. It felt like the city had breathed that sigh of contentment that is heard so often after a hard task finished.
Holding my hand, he pointed ahead on the paths. There, a boy too young to be unsupervised in a store, yet old enough to go to a friend's on the same block, or maybe just outside by that universal parental decree "Go outside and play".
Chris put an affectionate arm around my shoulders and said "It's heartwarming to see a boy and his....robot." The child was walking with a remote control in hand and a car the size of a shoe box zipping around his feet, then straying past him, up the path and back.
I was more poignantly reminded of childhood by this than any number of kids I've seen walking their dogs and cats in the neighbourhood, because of one simple fact. There was no tether.
The way he controlled his device made it seem like a faithful dog, investigating the world with joyous abandon, yet returning to the child out of love, duty and friendship.
Many times as a child I have felt the gentle nudge of a nose insinuating itself under my hand during a walk, nudging my fingers to give a reassuring scratch to a favorite place behind the ears, before the next few moments of trail called to be conquered... and the leap to the next movement, the next scent, the next adventure... unknown and familiar, the both of us going through these discoveries together.
A child and their dog have a special relationship, one that has been expounded in books and movies by people more witty and wise than I. I just missed the friendship of animal and human, unleashed.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for taking the time to comment. Comments are moderated before being published. Please be civil.