There are so many little things I miss about our previous life in Athens - the neighborhood's tail-less squirrel, the vicinity of the compost bin to the back door, and the ease of opening that same door and letting our two hounds roam in the back yard while I started my day, leisurely, inside.
Here in Knoxville, we have no back yard. Hustling the dogs out the back door whenever their eyes plead has been replaced with a carefully orchestrated routine of leashes, wagging tails, and one dog running laps around the sofa whenever someone forgets to spell "w-a-l-k" and instead blurts the word out whole.
We, humans and dogs, are slowly settling into this new routine. In the morning we walk around the block and say hello to the three little pugs trapped behind their invisible fence, and in the evening it's another quick walk around the neighborhood to tuck everyone in for the night. But at noon, we stroll over the hill and towards the river, to their favorite new place - their third place, the dog park. For thirty minutes, their noses zig-zag across the grass from one end of the field to the other, occasionally pausing to bark at a passing jogger or to scare a squirrel up a tree. Their happiness is evident through their wriggling bodies, and their delight with their new surroundings is contagious. I think I'm going to like it here.
