But the really, really good thing that I did today was go for a walk with my DH, my daughter, and our dogs.
We have two big white dogs (Brian and Finn) and our recent adoptee/ranawayfromotherfamilywhodidn'twantherback (Chase) and they are quite the pack. Brian and Finn take up the entire back seat, which makes things a little crowded for our daughter. I don't know how she survived. And fluff, white fluff! was flying everywhere. We had our window rolled down and the fluff was blowing thicker than Colorado snowfall. Seriously.
But we managed to get to the river despite my DH having to drive in whiteout conditions.
At the river ... (skipping the part where we were all tangled up in dogs at one point)
Brian and Finn, being veterans of this thing called going to the river for a walk, waded right in and picked a direction to walk. It was even the same direction. Meanwhile, Chase was frantic. They were in the water, the danger water! She didn't dare stick a toe in. Hilarity increased when she discovered the true evil lying in the depths (3 inches) of the evil water. A stick! A stick with algae and mossy-looking water weed on it. Oh. My. GAWD!
And then, suddenly, something in her snapped, as if the string that kept her high-strung stringy snapped. She pranced in, lifting her feet excessively high at first. Next thing we knew she was darting in and out of the water with the other dogs, and the darting became casual wading in and out as the mood took her.
The dogs calmed, we turned around, and we started walking the other way and we had one of those incredible moments. Soft breeze, soft sunshine, sparkling river, the dogs calmly exploring at the water's edge, and we were together in a time and place of complete peace.
It didn't last, but these things aren't meant to last. Three days from now I probably wouldn't remember the herons, one circling and one waiting patiently in the mud, unless I wrote about them. It wasn't a big deal. But that's part of what made it beautiful.
On the way home Chase sat in my lap, all tuckered out. She rested her chest and neck on my arm for a while, while I cradled her body with my other arm. And then she lifted her head and rested against my chest like a child, her soft ear tickling my cheek, her chin on my shoulder. I wondered if she had moments at her other home like this. It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. But I hope so. I hope she had, and always will have moments of happiness wherever she may be.
I hope we all do. We need them. Just for the contrast, you know?