Winter Waning Moon of the Winter Solstice
Dogs we have loved still live in my memories. Today while the shoveling the walk I thought of Sortia, our Russian witch, a big Irish Wolfhound bitch, black with white socks, incredibly strong and a hunter of legend. Before our breeders gave Sortia to us, her first placement hadn’t worked out, she took down a deer all by herself and guarded it with that combination of pride and territoriality only those who have an animal who kills will understand. She brought back woodchucks, raccoons, squirrels, rabbits, mice, anything that moved on four legs. Including, unfortunately, the occasional neighborhood cat that strayed inside our fences.
One New Year’s, maybe the second or third after we moved up here to Andover, I put Sortia in the Four-Runner and drove up to Lake George, about 15 miles north of us on Round Lake Blvd, the highway that runs north and south about a block from our house. With an acre and a half of fenced yard and woods we don’t take our dogs for walks very often, but this morning I felt drawn to take Sortia out on the frozen lake.
We drove in, parked in the lot and I hopped out, Sortia’s leash in my hand. She jumped down and her nose began quivering. New scents. New place. Pretty exciting. We walked out onto the lake and made a tour of the many ice-fishing houses, all abandoned at 8 AM on January 1st, 10 degrees below zero. We walked a half an hour, this elegant huntress and me, alone on a large body of ice. I felt close to her then, closer than I had before. We shared something that morning and it was a good way to start the year, just Sortia and me.
