I love to watch Fate run in the meadow, she is transformed in front of me, not the joyous, enthusiastic creature I sometimes see, but a dog living her destiny. She runs through the meadow, stopping once in awhile to turn and look back at me, at Maria, and then I picture the history and the destiny of the dog. This is where dogs come from, I think, where they started. We are communicating, I think, she seems to me at peace out there, against the light and the beautiful sky. Fate’s Meadow, I think I will call it. There are few things as gratifying as seeing a dog fulfilling her destiny.