Jailbreak

We reached the end of the wooden walkway that leads to the edge of the beach. I reached down and spoke softly to the patiently waiting Mojo. “Be careful out there” I whispered to him and then released the latch on his leash and sat back to watch his ecstasy. It was his first day unleashed since early April when he had knee surgery that would require more than three months of rehabilitation. From his ridiculous “Elizabethan” collar, to his underwater treadmill sessions, to his slow return to long walks, to his trots with me around Wild Dunes, his surgeon finally pronounced him ready to return to the scene of the crime, as it were. He was joined on that walkway by his long time compatriots, Bosco and Mabel, the great danes who live next door. Mabel, too, was excited to see her buddy again. In a flash, he was sprinting to the ocean, his home away from home.

If one can paint a picture of happiness, then this was a Rembrandt. Mojo flew to the water and began his eternal pursuit of minnows in the shallows. He fairly leaped vertically as he tried to pivot and intercept the elusive fish. His motions were akin to a frenetic, spastic dance to a music that has no rhythm, but which has a satanic beat. For a creature that has only two goals in his life -- to catch a squirrel and to catch a minnow -- this was serious, if joyous, business. I brought with me three tennis balls to keep him entertained, but they were wholly unnecessary. The minnows, or, more accurately, the promise of minnows was all he needed. Even his other compatriots, Lucy the boxer, Betsy the goldendoodle, Sandy, the miniature something, and other assorted labs were most surely a distraction, but they were only a diversion from the main event. Center stage was reserved for the ocean.

The fly in this ointment is the knowledge that Mojo will be facing more knee surgery in his near future, this time on his right leg. The surgeon told me it was not an “if” question, but a “when” question as to when the other shoe would drop, so to speak. Lily and I held our collective breath as we watched Mojo sprint to the ocean wondering if he’d pull up lame and face a maddeningly hasty return to being under house arrest. In a way, we were already preparing ourselves for this. But, this was of no interest to Mojo who cared only that he could dive through some waves, lie in the shallows, and chase those infernal minnows. Today all went well.

This is how you spell happiness.