Lost and Found

We lost my boss's dog for a moment this morning... just after we'd dropped my dad off at the airport. His back went out earlier this week (just before New Years Eve, actually), so he had arranged for a wheelchair in the airport. But it certainly felt strange depositing him inside the check-in area where he was to wait for the wheelchair. It felt just a little bit like when you realize you've left the door open and your boss's decrepit and daffy dog just waltzes out. It also felt a bit like leaving the door open intentionally.

Racing around in the rain and fog up on the hills in Glen Park looking for a lost dog should be terrifying, but somehow it was really peaceful. Very nice to know exactly what you need to be doing exactly at what moment and exactly for what purpose. Very nice to have a reason to be up on a wind-swept crag squashed in between layered residential roads yodeling out "Sasha" every few moments. Also very nice for Sasha to come right on back home, without the help of scouting the neighborhood and the broader area in our civic.

This honing in on a sense of purpose is how I know that in any true crisis I could be perfectly clear-headed, if not perhaps also cold and unfeeling.