I walked with Zinnia up a country road today, our walks are taking on a character and definition all of their own. We can’t talk on our path to the lake yet, too much ice still.

But today was warm and my heart was strong and we went all the way up the hill to meet Maria, walking towards us from the other side of the woods.

Zinnia and I have the same relationship I have had with Red, and Izzy and Rose, the great dogs in my recent life. (Yes, I have left out some dogs and will continue to do that. Please get over it, I would rather be honest than write to please you.)

I rarely speak to Zinnia and on our walks, she is busy exploring and sniffing, and eating awful things when she comes across them – she is all Lab. But she always knows where I am and stays close and comes instantly when called.

And when a car or truck comes down the road, she sits or lies down instantly, and doesn’t move until released.

Something about these silent walks are peaceful and beautiful, healing and grounding.

Zinnia is still a puppy, but just barely. More and more, she looks like a beautiful grown-up dog. She is still playful and sometimes mischievous, but she has a serious side now, she takes her therapy work and her walks very seriously.

Sometimes she cocks her head and looks at me as if to say, “what on earth do you think you are doing now?”

I think she is conscious of herself as a princess, she can look ridiculous, she can also look regal, a poster girl. The students at Bishop Maginn believe she is a spirit dog, a sacred white animal, a prophet of change and affirmation.

She also keeps a close watch on me, as I believe Red somehow asked her to do. As I write this, she is lying by my feet. She seems to follow everything I write.

The next few weeks will be on the warm side, our weak and on-and-off again winter is mostly off now. Soon, Maria will be gardening and Zinnia and I will be walking all over the place, to woods and water.

I am fortunate to have this dog, we have connected in a beautiful way.