Nearly every day I take our two dogs, Minnie and Buddha, for a morning walk along the southern border of our property. In the 15 years we’ve lived here, I’d guess hundreds of thousands of footsteps, both human and canine, have been taken on that route, so that a path now exists, worn through soil and woodland.
The four-leggeds and I poke around on our trail -- the dogs use noses, I use my eyes and sometimes a camera -- to take note of what might have changed from one day to the next.
This being spring, there is a lot going on.
Coyotes live and hunt in the wild areas near our place. When I’ve gone out to our front porch for firewood the past few evenings, I’ve noticed an uptick in the nighttime chorus of yipping and yapping out in the spooky darkness. Thus, on morning patrol, Minnie and Buddha keep sniffers close to the ground to determine whether their country cousins have strayed onto our turf. If coyote scent is detected, much peeing and barking is required on the part of my domesticated canine friends.
My personal hunt is more along the lines of a vision quest. Several mornings ago a single raindrop, pooled on the tips of cedar greenery, caught my eye. And this morning I photographed something that, for us, is a yearly rite of spring: The first trillium of the season.
My dog friends and I are happy campers, being out each morning to see what the day has to offer.
