11 PM
Maggie, my rescued golden retriever, who contrary to reports was not potty-trained, has rung the jubilant brass bells that hang from the kitchen doorknob to tell me that she needs to go out.  This is a milestone and, with affection, I hasten to respond.

We stand, dwarfed by the rustling trees around us, under a luminescent gray sky.

High above, wisps of dark smoke clouds, blown by pre-October gusts, travel quickly across the moon.  My jacket feels good.  It feels perfect.

I wait.  And wait.

Maggie has forgotten why she rang.

11:30
Maggie has inevitably rung again, shyly this time, perhaps sensing my frustration.  I am in the middle of a conversation with a friend that we’ve been waiting for all day.  I have twelve windows open on the computer.  I want to finish and go to bed.

Maggie understands nothing of this.

The sky is darker, no longer wisps of clouds, but a solid gray cotton swath.  I’m cold.

I hope she will learn soon.  I hope I will no longer have to sit out here when winter arrives.

But I know that I will never regret these times.  I know it because of the nights spent rocking my children, nursing them.  I was exhausted at an unprecedented, previously unimaginable level, sitting in the nursery, in the dim glow of the nightlight,  into the wee hours of the morning.  But at some point in the blurry, unrelenting chain of semi-conscious meetings, I realized that I’d been afforded a precious time warp with these sweet little beings, so close to me in the still of the night that I could breathe in their infant scent. The pace of my world slowed to baby-time…

Maggie is distracted by the wind, hypervigilant. I watch her for clues about what she needs from me. Sometimes giving her a great bear hug and whispers of reassurance removes the barrier for her. I have learned that there are other times like now when I am of more help if I completely disconnect from the task at hand so that I cease to radiate impatience.  It is Maggie’s puzzle to figure out, not mine.  In my mind, I count – one thousand one, one thousand two – for five minutes while my thoughts turn inward.  It is me-time under the vast sky that I would not otherwise have taken.

I return to the here-and-now; Maggie is showing signs of remembering why we are out here, and I have learned that what helps now is to become her cheerleader.  We are both on the same side; she is excited to have found the answer.

Maggie is ecstatic as we re-enter the brightness of the house.  My inner turmoil has been well enough contained not to damage her spirit.  The frustration evaporates, but the memory and feel and sounds of this late September night, along with Maggie’s triumph, are richly, deeply part of me.

We are both learning so much.