Filling in the blanks

Happy Mother's Day to all human and fur mamas, especially my own wonderful mother!

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I repeatedly strained my math skills figuring out how long that first, 100-mile day would take them at the rate they rode; could it really be nine hours?

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I wish dogs liked reading books and knitting and watching baseball and looking for great cake recipes on the Internet.

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When I want the feeling of living in a small, compact body and looking out of eyes only a few feet above the ground, I think of that dog, just like I play David Bowie to remember high school and the Grateful Dead to access college. I don't want to be short or six years old or brimming with a terror he could sniff, so I don't think of him often.

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One bad moment against a million good ones, but the good ones seemed distant and blurry just then.

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Some people show up for the big, tedious transitions: not the parties, weddings, bat mitzvahs and fortieth birthdays, but the lugging of boxes, the attaching of U-Haul trailers to burdened vehicles, the renting and using of post-hole diggers.

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"Breathe, breathe," his voice echoed as I went about my post-boxing life, hands untaped and no justification for punching anything. He always spoke quietly, like a coach strategizing with his players when he doesn't want the opposition to hear.

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