Homebodies - Beauty and the beast?

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Published on Sunday, May 3, 2015

By Rita Friesen

I grabbed a big black garbage bag and headed down the drive. It appears that my home is the exact right distance from town. People toss junk. I would love to blame it on passing cars, but cars don’t do things like that. It was a person that flung the pop cans, glass bottle, an insulated liner from a man’s winter boot, and (I do wear gloves!) a four litre plastic half full of urine. No, I did not do a sniff test. Bet my assumption is correct though. Papers and plastics and lines of twine, I get that. But hard core garbage, really? 

Needed a change of scene and theme, so I decided that it was time to try the country road for my walk. The dogs have become so comfortable on our regular route that I get to lead. They simply dog trot along. There are wet spots along the road, and a chorus of frogs were serenading. Until they sensed our approach. I was not speaking and the dogs were not barking, just the soft sound of our feet on the sand was enough to silence them. We were far down the path before they resumed their song. 

Off in the distance I heard the familiar thudding of a grouse’s wings, calling for attention. The rapid ascent of a pair of Canadian Geese caused all three of us to stop and watch. The air carried a trace of the budding poplars and the low land scene was gentled by the greening pussy willow trees. It was easy to walk just a bit further than intended for in their eagerness, Henry Hoover and Miss Daisy had taken command of our trek. They propelled me around the corner and up the incline. I appreciated their efforts for the signs and sounds of spring refreshed my weary soul.

I reflected on the tale of two persons walking down a big town busy street. Traffic hummed and screeched, horns blared and voices raised. One of the travellers placed a hand on the companion’s sleeve. “I hear the song of a cricket.” “Impossible!”, was the reply. But with careful cautious movements, the traveller approached a hedge and sure enough, there sat, and sang, a little cricket. When asked how that small sound could be discerned above the roar of the city life, the wise one replied, “It all depends on what you are listening for.”  Not unlike the illustration of the parent teaching the child that within each of us abides a black dog and a white dog. When the child asks which dog will win, the loving parent shares a deep truth – “which ever one you feed.”

I chose to listen for the cricket and thereby help feed the white dog.