Stuck in Time

We got lost today. Which is to say that we took a significant detour home following our daily walk in the park. "We" being a six year old Boston Terrier named Yoda who has been a part of my life for a little over two years now, and myself. We had done our usual lap around the track and as we headed toward the exit gate, as he does from time to time, Yoda gave a tiny tug on the leash indicating that he wanted to head in the opposite direction of our home. Perhaps to make up for past walks that were cut short because I had other things to do or maybe because I needed his company a little more than usual this day, I obliged and we journeyed down an unfamiliar street of Yoda’s choosing. We made our way down the street slowly, Yoda stopping occasionally to sniff the sidewalk, blades of grass, flowers and lamp posts along the path. Technically, I suppose we weren’t really lost since, having lived here for nearly fifteen years, I am well aware that in Silver Lake all roads lead to home eventually. But even if that weren’t true I couldn’t imagine a better companion to be lost with than Yoda.
I suppose that it’s his bulldog lineage that compels him to sniff the ground like some forensic detective canine in search of clues. Yoda will sniff one patch of ground and then another and back again, before lifting his head and panting happily as if coming to a satisfying conclusion, and then moving on. Or perhaps he’s conducting a scientific survey of all the different scents in the world, categorizing them and cataloging them for future dog-hood. Or perhaps he’s like me, searching for the small stories within the tiny details, absorbing all the data and assembling all that had occurred, as if it were a vast novel in his Boston Terrier brain.
In between bouts of sniffing he trotted happily beside me as we traveled on. For being six years old - middle age for a dog - Yoda still harbored a lot of puppy-like traits. He still enjoys pulling the covers off the bed and the pillows out of the pillow cases. (Of course, I shouldn’t allow him to do it but it amuses me to see him behave this way.) He enjoys playing ball more than any dog I’ve ever known, as well. And not being content to simply be the recipient of a game of "catch", Yoda’s favorite game is to bounce his soft, yellow rubber ball off of his snout to hurl it back towards me and then I catch it and toss it again to him. We’ve played many hours worth of Boston Terrier Volley Ball in this manner. Frequently he pads up to the door of my room, ball clutched in his mouth and he’ll poke his head into the doorway as I bang away at the computer. Then he’ll linger there as if to say "All work and no play Bob..." Before trotting up to me, dropping the ball at my feet and smiling. Yes, he smiles. I know they say that dogs don’t smile, at least not for the reasons we do, but I know Yoda smiles to express emotion. I’ve seen it many times. When he leaps up on to my lap to lick my hand or my cheek and to give me a look that seems to say "Thanks for the food and the treats..." or "Sorry I was bad before..." or even "Thank you for being here with me today..."
But then they also say dogs have no memory, that they live forever in the moment and have no concept of passing hours and days and are, in a sense, stuck in time. Which may be for the best since sometimes it strikes me, as it did earlier this day that we, as human beings in nature, always seem to outlive things that are smaller than us. That thought occurred to me as I watched Yoda snoring at the foot of my bed. He was stretched out on his back, his perfectly symmetrical black and white markings making him look like a snoozing gentlemen bulldog. Reflexively and without thinking I laid my hand across his warm chest to feel his heart beating. His eyes opened and I watched an irritated grimace change to an eager-to-please grin after I said "Go for a walk?"
At the end of the day, despite my numerous flaws and imperfections, I can feel that I provided a happy and healthy life to a deserving creature, at least for a time.

Our adventure came to an end as we happened upon more familiar streets and I felt a bit disappointed. It appeared that Yoda felt the same way as he slowed the pace of his trot to a hesitant crawl. Of course when we reached the edge of our block, we simultaneously broke into a sprint and dashed through the courtyard, up the stairs and into my apartment where Yoda knew there would be food and treats. And while our ninety minute journey maybe already, from Yoda’s point of view, a forgotten episode in his happy existence, it is and will be a treasured moment in my own, for however long that is.