Slippery out there

It's not so easy to live life as a dog in winter, when the lack of four legs and ice-cutting claws slows a body down.

Still, it is sunny, over 30 degrees, most of the newish snow is still pristine, and outside calls. We head to the dog park, where neither of us needs to be on a leash unless a stray sheriff shows up, hiding on his lunch break, as sometimes happens. It's not an official dog park, which makes it all the more fun.

Idgie meets her friend Sara, a saucy little black lab-basset hound mix with a pink bow collar, and they commence to run wild whackado circles around each other. As a dog, you must greet anyone who comes in your path, and so I do, exchanging big smiles and small talk with the other parka-clad owners, so glad of the chance to play outside and pretend we are called there by duty.

We walk a couple miles on hills and slippery half-packed snow. Which is a little like walking on half-wet sand dunes. I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. A couple months out of a knee and ankle injury, it's a fair workout that tests my proprioception, which is finally returning.

But while I'm feeling happy from exercise and a dose of Vitamin D, smug about getting my hiking game back on, a breezy young couple jogs past me on the woodland trail.

On snowshoes. And they are MOVING. And talking. And not breathing hard in the least.

Dogs do not suffer shame or envy, for the most part, unless balls, attention, or food objects are involved. But people: hoooboyhowdy, do we. I shake it off and remember that once, I too was young and sprightly.

Okay. Never was I that sprightly.

I return to the moment, which is where I belong. We hop into the car, Idgie lured by some nice aged Wisconsin brick cheese, me by a bottle of prescription Advil that awaits me at home.

Content now that we're back, Idgie sleeps. But I am in the human condition and I must think about tomorrow. There are jobs to apply for tonight. I will have to cement my ever increasing butt to the seat of this chair and commune with this screen until it's done.

But first, maybe, a teensy little nap.

Woof!

Cognitive dissonance

I don't think dogs experience cognitive dissonance. One of two conflicting ideas pushes the other out. There is no room for ambivalence. Pick one, go for one. But I'm full of it. Ambivalence, that is.

(Does it seem strange to talk about dogs and work? I don't think so. Even the fluffy breeds make play their careers. But mine is a working dog, Australian Shepherd and Heeler, and she must work. It's in her genes. Since I have failed to provide her with a herd of cattle to drive, she has settled for herding geese and ducks, patrolling the yard, hunting small game and pointing at other birds. She makes do. So do I.)

Since the job hasn't ended yet, today was a work day. We don't know exactly what the "plan" will be for shrinking the program, but it's pretty certain I'll be gone March 6. The cuts will likely follow the simple rules of seniority. Simplicity is the easiest kind of fairness, and that trumps almost everything in the making of hard decisions.

And simplicity is, of course, how a dog operates. Bad smell? Roll in it. Squirrel moving? Chase it. People to cut? Last hired, first fired.

The cognitive dissonance comes from spending two days at the main office planning and training. Getting certified in performing tasks we won't be performing, getting bugs out of new computer programs we won't be using, checking calendars for dates we won't be meeting.

Tomorrow we're back out in the field as if nothing had happened. Five days work in three days, the usual.

It's kind of nuts, really, this sitting around a table, swords over our heads, acting as if all is well.  I struggle with the swords and the pretense. I'm not good at that.

But then my dogself rises. This work we're doing is what's here, now, all this busy planning/training/pretending. I step into it, I fill the moment and the work, with all of me. And it returns the favor.

Woof!

Time flies. As long as I'm working, the sick-stomach-feel stays at bay. All approach, no avoidance.

Which is why we love it, those of us who love it. Yes?