Sarah Hina

Our dog, Django, pretty much lives to go for his daily walk in the neighborhood. He used to go twice a day, but gave up his morning habit a few years back, on a particularly blustery morning in February that would have broken the spirit of a dog half his age. He kept up his evening rounds with redoubled enthusiasm, though, and even at the age of fourteen, will start up his staring game soon after dinner, until I grab his leash and we set off together, his tail as high as his unfailing ardor.

A couple of summers ago, our son and I decided to liven up the afternoon by taking him out to the nearby lake for a change of scenery and a walk. In my head, I pictured our increasingly stiff-legged, gray-muzzled lab transformed into a puppy again, as he cavorted with butterflies, bees and a panoply of novel critters, all enticing him with delicious smells. Yes, I may have pictured some frolicking.

Instead, we’d no sooner gotten him out of the car than he turned around, desperate to get back inside. Undaunted, I figured he just needed a little time to acclimate to his new surroundings. So my son and I dragged him along the edge of the lake for another five minutes, sure that at any moment, our young-at-heart pup would spot a heron, or latch onto some scent in the tall grasses, or feel the frolicsome wind through his fur, and forget the car, with its tepid promise of sanctuary.

Needless to say, that never happened. The dog got his way—as all dogs ought—and we returned to the car, chastened. That night, I took him along the normal route in the neighborhood. He bounced. He cavorted. He gleefully frightened a neighbor’s cat. I must say, it was a job well done, all around.

If it’s tough to teach an old dog new tricks, then it’s also hard to teach an old writer new habits. I have been stubbornly entrenched at my blog, Murmurs, for sixteen years now, which is about ten years longer than Blogger’s been relevant to anyone. In 2009, I hopped over to Twitter, and found it a fruitful forum for engaging with other writers, and for the posting of my short-form poetry. After that? Flirtations with Facebook, Instagram and Mastodon, all of which filled me with despair, somehow, and quickly came to naught.

Which is all to say that I was very comfortable, and stuck in my habits, and if nobody was showing up to my party, that was okay. I was still getting the words out.

But I have a couple new writing projects I’m excited about, and find myself ready to make the leap to a real and proper website. Yes, it’s a little spare around here. Just a few patches of lawn and dirt so far. But it’s a place to share my work, my news, and my thoughts when I have them. Especially since Twitter’s become . . . what it is.

I hope to have more to share in the coming months. But right now, the dog is staring at me, and you know what that means.

It’s time to go scare some cats.