Dogs Along The Way

The dog we saw at the furthest point of our way was tall and thin-legged, covered shag. He was stopped on the trail, his owners (a young couple) trailing behind. Then he lunged at us, and I think both of us winced instinctively, thinking he might be go crazy. But he only wanted to play, the owners laughed, and we kept going.

The dog we saw at the second-furthest point on our way, a few days later, was black and long-nosed. He had his own ideas about where the trail went (down a steep slope, between thin trunks of saplings), and his owner, an older man who kept calling him to come here, come here, come here, got firm with the animal and took hold of him on his collar.

But on that route you don't see as many dogs chained up in front of houses and sheds, guarding chickens or sitting alone. You see no dogs, but you hear them as you leave the forest and step onto the newly poured concrete road. The dogs call from the valley on the left hand side, one barks and the next one hears and barks to the next one, and it takes only a second for the chain of barking to reach into the valley on the right hand side, where the barking goes on in every layer of sound– in the low distant din of traffic there are dogs, and in the high wind going through an orchard there are also dogs.

Then there are the dogs in the park, who walk together and go on adventures. Of all the dogs in town, these ones are probably the most similar to ourselves.

There are the dogs by the supermarket, the ones that try to find spots in the sunlight on the coldest days where they might warm their fur. I know less about these dogs and only think about them when we pass.

Then there are the dogs in Berlin, over a thousand kilometers away from here, who stand eagerly outside the budget supermarket, waiting with a heartbreaking nervosity for their owners to come out.

The Multilingual Donkey's Wisdom

Dear Friends,

Last night, as we were walking through the park, a small donkey crossed our path. He had five legs, each of them ending in ten toes. Do not be deceived, though; he was far from hideous. In fact, one could say that he had an astonishing beauty. He spoke to us slowly, while chewing on a lollipop made out of hay. He said: "I always see you two walking around at night and during the day, and I think it would be nice if you wrote down the things you see on your walks and shared them with others." We laughed, because at first the idea sounded silly. However, the donkey spoke five languages (Romanian, Hungarian, French, English and German), which made us think that he must be possessed by an incommensurable wisdom, which we should obey without any further skepticism.

The donkey also suggested that we invite our friends to write about their own walks through the world inside or outside, and about the fifty-toed donkeys that they might come across underway. Therefore, we hope that you will consider posting stories of walks you have been on.

Sincerely,
Fox in the Snow and Jester With Three Toes On Each Leg