The Beginning
A dog who lives
completely in the moment.
There is a specific kind of joy that belongs only to dogs — a total, unselfconscious surrender to whatever the moment holds. Harvey has always had this in abundance. A pine cone in the grass becomes a trophy. A patch of sun on the sidewalk becomes a five-minute meditation. A mud puddle, any mud puddle, becomes an invitation he has never once declined.
Harvey is a golden retriever. He turned twelve this year — twelve years of walks through Central Park, of shaking out in elevators, of greeting strangers with the unshakeable certainty that they were, in fact, waiting there just to meet him. He is getting a little slower now, a little grey around the muzzle. But the eyes still shine. The tail still goes.
