I walk through the woods in the gathering dusk. The unseasonable cold leaks through my gloves and makes my fingers tingle.

My little dog, Cady, bounds ahead of me, looking for tasty bits and pieces of small dead animals. She is 13 years old and weighs 10 pounds, down from 14 due to heart failure. She has cataracts and is going deaf. But, just for tonight, she is as young and unstoppable as she was in the days when she chased the deer through the woods.

An eight-point buck spies us and bounds away, pretending to be afraid. Two large doe take a few token steps back into the woods as we pass by, but they are otherwise unconcerned.

Three large Labradors and a small girl bound across their yard to greet us through the fence. Cady is delighted to meet the little girl, and the little girl is delighted to meet Cady. The same can be said of the three large Labradors, one of whom whimpers to be let out of the yard in order to get better acquainted with Cady. Indeed, the three large Labradors are delighted with everything about them: the weather, Cady, the little girl, themselves, and the two toys that they share as only dogs can share.

We make our way back home. John Lennon, who, like Elvis, is not dead, uses my iPod to wish us a Happy Christmas and to declare that war is over now if we want it.

Jean has turned on the porch light. Cady knows that dinner, generously laced with bits of leftover turkey, is waiting for her. She wags her tail just to remind me. When I open the door, she is off like a shot, headed for the dinner bowl.

Life is good.

San Antonio, Texas
November 2007