Last night, I walked the old dawg. The first time in many weeks as we've both been feeling rather poorly as of late.

We'd been walking down a completely dark road, with no street lights, through a wooded section, with cleared lots on the left that could normally be seen through a stand of trees. Tonight, however, the moon was sitting behind a cloud bank, probably snickering at us as we stumbled along in the darkness....I did anyway, the dog didn't seem to have any trouble, sniffing his way along, from bush to bush. I trusted him to keep us on our normal 'pathway' and not to go running off into the underbrush after a wayward rabbit or a spooked deer.

As we made our way along, the night became decidedly inky as we reached the heart of the woods and reached our turnaround point. The crickets and what I assume were treefrogs seemed almost deafening in the darkness, and my mind skittered on a tangent to Washington Irving's Headless Horseman.

This particular road dated from that era and had it's own local legend of 'punkin-headed' sprites that mirrored your way as you walked along, watching you and waiting for a sign of weakness to rush out of the darkness and drag you away to the nearby swamps. It was a decidedly boggy area, and we were at the lowest point, where a small brook ran into a culvert under the roadway.

For some inexplicable reason, the dog hesitated, refusing to go forward or return the way we'd come, and in that instant, although I could faintly hear the Semi's rushing down I-95 off in the distance, the 'old' part of my brain flared into prominence, and my heart leapt to my throat in alarm.

Nature is funny....as long as you keep a measured pace, it goes upon it's business. Should you stop, or hesitate in any way, then a thousand small eyes and ears are suddenly focused upon you, intent on your every move.

When we stopped, the crickets stopped...the treefrogs stopped....and there was...complete..... silence. And I could feel each and every single solitary hair raise on the back of my neck....and the dog.... began to 'rumble' deep within his chest, something he very rarely does; he prefers a loud bravado bark...joe macho dog, afraid of nothing. If he rumbles, he's afraid, and he WILL bite something, anything within reach, ordinarily.

In an instant that lasted an eternity, I muttered 'COME!', and yanked on his lead. At the same time, the moon took pity on us and flared into near fullness, lighting the nearby field as if a lightswitch had been thrown. The roadway, which had been pitchblack only a moment ago, was now dappled in moonlight, making it easily seen, and the crickets resumed their chorus, content that we were once again on our way.