It is not, on the whole, my style.
I should clarify, before anything else, that I am not, generally speaking, a chaser. My beat is observation. I write things down. I take the long view. The other dogs in this household chase. I, as a rule, do not.
This morning, however, a squirrel passed within four feet of my person and looked me, briefly, directly in the eye. As if to say: well? And before I had completed the thought “well, what?”, I had begun, somehow, to run.
I ran. I ran for approximately fourteen seconds. I ran with what I can only describe as conviction. I have not run with conviction in some time. I am, perhaps, in a different stage of life than I had appreciated.
The squirrel, of course, ascended a tree. The squirrel always ascends a tree. This is the squirrel's primary feature. I knew this. I knew this when I started running. I ran anyway.
The Bald Man, watching from the porch, said only, “Look at you go, Harvey.” He said it gently. He said it the way one says it to a very old uncle who has, against expectation, attempted a karaoke. I should like to say it did not affect me. It did.
Winnie, who saw the whole thing, was, I am told, beside herself. She has informed me that I am now “part of the band, officially.” I have not agreed to be part of the band. I shall not be addressing the band situation further.
I have, as a result of this episode, a number of things to process. I shall be processing them, quietly, on the rug, for some time.