The rhythm of walking is more pronounced in the winter when the ground is covered in snow. You hear each step. You see your breath leaving your body in clouds. The woods are quiet in the winter. Blankets of snow absorb the sounds, swallow them. Making the rhythmic tapping of the woodpecker ever louder. Its beak working tirelessly on a frozen tree. You know the noise. Or, at least you can imagine it. Whack, whack, whack. Echoing through the forest. Everyone freezes. Me and eight dogs. Frozen. I’m looking around, hoping to catch sight of the bird. The dogs are doing the same, and then staring at me. Staring at me hard. As if to ask, “Is this okay? Should we be worried?” “Let’s go. It’s fine,” I assure them. And we’re off.

Yes, the rhythm of the walking. Crunch, crunch, crunch. My legs are more tired than usual thanks to the foot of snow. I sink deeper into the rhythm with each step. Everything gets easier. I have something to focus on. Life has a rhythm again. Loss and sadness and fears and worries are swallowed by the snow. Pushed down with each step. Looking up, three dogs are on the move. Zettie, Ranger and Luna, speeding around in a wide circle, one behind the other. Molly has her head half buried in the snow, finding life below, a mouse, maybe a mole, or just a new scent. Daisy is walking in line behind me, stick in tow. This is everything. The woods are ours. And everything is quiet. It’s almost like we’re trespassing on a world asleep. There are hints of life, still. The water flows below the ice, silently waiting for spring. But the world is asleep.

Seasons have always suited me. Life is cyclical. People come and go, loved ones are with you and then they’re gone, things seem impossibly hard and then they swing the other way. The seasons are part of that cycle. At the start of each, I feel rejuvenated. Life is changing; it’s moving forward. And as a season moves into its final weeks, I often feel the weight of stagnation. But, just beyond that is spring or summer or fall. The forest transforms, becomes almost unrecognizable from the previous season. Trails fill in, the air feels different, the smells change, the sounds change and we keep moving through it. Me and eight dogs. The dogs flying past me or standing at my side. I’ll catch them sometimes, nose up, breathing it all in.

They’re all dog days. Here I’ll talk about my life. And by talking about my life, I’ll be talking about dogs. Life and dogs. Seems okay, right?