Deep

I am afraid of dogs. When most people see a dog they see a four legged, furry creature who is a pet, an endearing part of someone's family. I see a wolf, an animal with a full set of teeth, legs that can tear across a lawn ten times faster than I can, and whose instincts come from a creature that fiercely protects its territory while hunting meat.

I am, however, not afraid of dogs I know. Dogs who specifically know me.

I am also approaching seventy, but a very young seventy. Think fifty. I still need adventures and I cannot afford to go on an African safari taking pictures of lions and tigers and bears -- oh my, no bears in Africa, but . . . I also cannot afford to float down the Rhine photographing old castles and the Black Forrest.

I can, however, get in my car and drive into the heart of the deep south and face my deepest fears bravely (in great comfort, but still, bravely.)

In the past I have gone to monasteries to meditate. Explored distant places in solitude. And faced other fears.

Soon I will go on a new adventure, facing one of my greatest fears. I will get in my car, drive deep into the heart of Dixie and spend five weeks alone with a large dog, walking in uncharted territory!

Okay, for most people this would be walking a dog in an upper class neighborhood among people who jet set around the world. But for me it is an adventure!

Deep.