I have a blue dog.
We call him that sometimes anyway.
See, I have a dog named Blue – and at a time, I once felt this idea of carefree-companionship.
I was finished with graduate school and looking for work.
Finding a job proved impossible for that season of my life, but one day this stray dog showed up.
It took a week before he was part of the family – and almost a year before he weaseled his way into becoming an inside dog.
Most days we ran together for 2 miles.
I wanted to exercise, and Blue just wanted to be where I was.
Years later I went to grad school – again – and then had a family.
My parents fell in love with him – so I left him with them and moved away.
But for short periods between the stresses of a job search: I had a dog – and not a care in the world.
“I remember running through a field with Dad’s collie, Dannie, a beautiful, bedraggled creature so gentle that he once caught a baby rabbit and carried it in his mouth, unharmed, to a human for inspection. I have no idea why I was running, but we both collapsed from exhaustion and lay in the grass, Dannie’s head on my chest and my eyes staring at the blue sky. I don’t know that I had ever felt so content, so completely unworried about life and its stresses.”
–J. D. Vance, Hillbilly Elegy
Blue is in the picture at the top of this post, and below too.
Old Blue dog.
Best looking stray dog I’ve ever seen…
Here he is playing with Huck, that we got a few years later: