The First Dance

I mentioned the dance on the trail. It was the biggest dance, but it wasn't the first. The first dance came on a local walk in Sudden Valley. We'd walked uphill and across the flats, and were starting to wind down the curves of Sudden Valley Drive. We turned right into one of the many cul de sacs that mark the development, Indian Hills Road.

They were building new houses along Indian Hills. Now, Oz loved new construction. I was never fully sure why. Some of it seemed to be for purely doggy reasons: the new smells. Other parts, though, seemed Oz specific. She seemed to get a kick of returning to the new house day after day, seeing the house change under her paws.

So, when we saw building, we went to explore. As usual, we divided the labor. Her job was to smell; mine was to watch for nails and other pointy things. However, rather than pulling me into the house, which was largely framed, she pulled me to the steam shovel in the driveway. The day before, the driveway had been a flat dry spot. Now it was dug up and roughed in, and the steam shovel was clearly responsible. Half a load of dirt and rock still sat in its scoop, which was turned knuckle down to the earth like the hand of a giant ape. Oz pulled; we went to see it. Oz smelled all over the scoop, then walked back and forth under the bent arm, pulling me with her, bending and grumbling as I knocked my head on the rivets.

Then, as soon as we went back and forth a few times, she stopped and did her dance. Oz twirled in circles, reared up on her hind legs, threw herself diagonally, and lapped the air in pure joy. Oh, we went on—the treads of a steam shovel are covered with good smelly dirt, and the garage had new piping piled in one corner—but the steam shovel was clearly the highlight of the W. Why it pleased her so much to walk under construction equipment, I'll never know, but it was like being in Mike Mulligan's steam engine for a moment.

Ah!