Out the Door

I put on warm socks and lace up a pair of work boots as she shifts her weight from one paw to another. I can feel her judging me as she watches me get dressed. The temperatures dropped this week, and it takes me that much longer to get out the door. I button up a long sleeve shirt and then pull on a sweatshirt - which of course needs zipping. Her ears go back as she shifts her weight again, her tail gently sweeping the floor. Her eyebrows rise when I reach for a jacket, and zip that up as well. She does her best to be patient but when I start to search through the wicker basket by the door for gloves and a hat it’s just about the last straw. She begins to emit a barely audible micro squeak; her impatience is clearly now bordering on pain. She’s been waiting for well over a minute for me to get ready - which to a Border Collie is forever and a half.  The clock on the wall ticks gently, like a metronome at odds with her thunderous stare.

Before last week it was hot, and I was much faster getting out the door. I was comfortable all day in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, but even then, she still had to endure waiting for me to put on my shoes. (Oh, dear god, do you really need to lace them?!) At least there were no jackets, no sweatshirts, no gloves or hat. It was better then. I was faster.

Farm dogs are born ready. She wears nothing, no matter the season or weather. No shoes or jacket, even during the coldest days of this past winter, the thick of this summer’s heat or today’s heavy rain. She is always ready, ready to go - and always waiting for me. She stands staring intently at the doorknob - because she knows that’s where I’ll soon place my hand to make the magic happen.