My dog officially has Lyme. No that’s not right: my best friend of 14 years has Lyme. 

——

And I am kicking myself.

———

When I first move to the new state I heard from hiker after person that Lyme was more common here. 

————

Did I listen?… wait, no, thats not right: COULD I listen? 

———-

No. Nature is my hideaway. It’s my home. It’s my rest. My thinking spot, no matter where I go. It where the thoughts get blown out while the sound of leaves rattle in. Nature is where I remember the cycle is love.  Death is constantly reborn. The living always dying. 

————

And as for Kenji Kitsuné, he was bred a hunter. Nothing brings him more joy than a deer trail or a pile of rabbit poop. Every trip in a wooded line, his tail perks tight and he’a a puppy again. He spent a year in a concrete jungle with brief breaks. I was so grateful and relieved to move next to endless trails for him to explore. 

———

So the foreshadowing I was given gave me a choice and I chose nature. Now I pay the price. So today I went for a walk alone. To see what it would be. Also because his joints have made it harder for him to go very far now. He is still in bliss in nature and yet the hearing issues and painful joints from the Lyme are clearly present. 

—————-

I made this choice for him. Now he suffers for it. Would he have chosen different? He greeted me in joy today followed be betrayal as my scent was ripe with mud. I think some bliss is worth the risk.