January 20, 2016 § Leave a comment
She bounds and pounces, all autumn leaves and sable fur. She smiles and dances, bends and prances, and trips on oversized paws.
There is innocence here, but it is not the innocence of naïveté; not child-innocence. She knows, and she experiences, and sometimes she flinches away with ducked head and tucked tail and hurt in liquid eyes… yet there is innocence still. It is the innocence evident in the large-heartedness of labradors, of wriggling hounds with glossy fur and eager-to-please snufflings.
Warmth bubbles from her; moods lift to sunlight as she dances the dog-dance of “play, pet, run!”, complete exuberance in life. She is playfulness and comfort; she is irresistible optimism, and cynicism melts in her glow.
This is not to say that she is happiness through-and-through. Even the cheeriest of labradors become sad: the eyes grow shadow-liquid, the tail droops, the ears twitch back and limp. Each emotion is fully consuming in a twice-sized heart. Happiness wriggles the body all over and barks joyful into air, infectious, bright; sadness melts her to a huddled keening, and what is more painful to see than a bundle of summer reduced to such deep sorrow?