White Dog, Puff, and I sat and watched the greyness gather until the sky could hold its frustration no longer. It began to rain. Normally WD and I love just witnessing the transformation that takes place during wet weather in the desert: it gets quieter; the earth seems to open its mouth in welcome; there is a certain respectful reverence. But today as the rain indecisively turned to angry snow and clanking hail and back again, the mood was more sad and confused. The world seemed tired.
The White Dogs felt it. Quinn came to lay closer to the pack. Nuka took the blanket at my feet. Puff restlessly alternated between worriedly watching out of the window and lying next to AWD. White Dog was at my shoulder, in comfort and ready to protect me if need be. For a long time we stayed like that, observing and finding solace in being together. The power of the White Dog Army pushed the forlorn mood back outside of our sanctuary where mixed tears of rain and snow continued to melt into the ground.
Inside, we followed the ancient wisdom of the Dog. We huddled together, guarding each other’s backs, pressed flank to flank, and we slept in anticipation of better weather and spirits.