By Monica Nelson
We have a family pet, a beautiful golden retriever/golden lab dog named Melanie. She is an indoor dog that longs to be an outdoor dog. When we take her on walks, she trots along beside us in a lively, excited gait, bending her lithe body in the graceful rhythm of nature.
When we take her out to do her business, she lifts her head into the air and breathes in the smells of our Midwestern country home. In her eyes, there is a hunger, an eagerness as she looks around her. What she wants to do, what her eyes spell out in longing looks, is to run. There are times when her discipline to do as she is told gives way to this deeply held desire. And she takes off.
Melanie runs. She is magnificence in motion. A sight your eyes are helpless to break away from. She is one with the wind, gliding in fluidity through timeless space. Speed and agility combine in grace too eloquent to describe. Her long fur shifting like silk rippling in the breeze. She is lost to us, to the world around her, to herself as she slips into this private world called run.
After a set amount of time known only to her, she makes a burst back to her home. To her family, returning with a sparkle and smile. The longing having been temporarily satisfied.
Melanie and I share something. A passion. She must run. I must write.