It’s now been six weeks since my dog’s surgery to repair her cruciate ligament.  She’s been pretty much confined to a brown plastic pen that has taken over my dining room until this most recent visit to the vet.

Dr. Lee gave her clearance to WALK.

I didn’t know how much I missed this activity myself. Walking.

Of course, I could have taken walks without her, but I didn’t.  Or, at least, I didn’t very often.

I don’t think India ever looked at walking as just the normal activity that surrounded her toilet routine.

To her, our regular walks serves as her main opportunity to interact with the world. Walking affords her the chance to chase after bunny rabbits and sniff the ground, maybe even scarf down a contraband KFC napkin before I can extract it from her jaws.

Our first walk, after weeks on hiatus, was glorious!

Of course, she wanted to mark every tree and signpost. It was as if she was claiming her territory anew—as if she just moved into the neighborhood.

She was confused by some of my moves and didn’t cooperate with me when I tried to lead her to walk up and down the curb or guide her through a series of figure eights. Both of these moves were recommended by Dr. Lee for helping her recover her flexibility, strength, and mobility.

I imagine it made no sense to her why I was trying to get her to walk in tight circles or retrace ground covered only seconds earlier.

Seeing her walking briskly, ears perked up and snout to the ground, it was apparent that she didn’t know what she’d encounter, but she was ready for anything—and having a great time.

Watching her, and realizing I have been missing our walks at least as much made me think about what walking means to me.

I love walking because it clears my mind and engages my body in a way that brings me into the present moment.

I can walk at my own pace. (I don’t feel like I’m competing with anyone). I can choose a direction (and re-choose it) at any time.

During a walk, while in the flow of constantly changing scenery, I can free myself of particular thoughts, or, I can try out different ideas. Even when working out a solution, I manage to put one foot in front of the other.

Walking makes me feel in my body without judging myself that I’m not doing something correctly, that I’m not moving gracefully or economically.  Walking makes me breathe more deeply.

When on a walk along my block, I will pick up beer cans or cheap lighters or fast food wrappers that I come across. It’s not that I have anointed myself a sergeant in the litter brigade. Picking up stray trash just seems to be a decision I might make in the moment.

I may choose to walk around a fallen tree branch, or I may choose to jump over it. I trust myself to make decisions as I need to.

When walking, I put my attention on what’s in front of me. That’s a relief and comfort. It can be a joy.

To me, walking is not just a method to get to a physical destination. It’s a journey inward to a place of perceiving and being that’s different from how I am when I’m working or vegging out in front of the TV.

Walking is an invitation to look at ordinary objects in extraordinary silence, and by being in this place, by focusing on the present moment, the unique qualities of individual things come alive for me.

So, India’s habit of always finding something new in a walk, even as her world consists of about six square blocks, seems to complement my own pleasure in following the whole engagement of my body to a place where I can view things as they are: unique and amazing!

Walking, without needing to get anywhere, is no small thing.