I woke up to freshly fallen snow.

As I watch the white blanket thicken from the warmth of my home, I think of the words in my head, the stories I’ve to tell, and I see them in every flake that flutters to the ground.

I’ve heard that when you’re in pain, it’s a Good Thing to help others.

So I did. The other night, I was outside, walking in the cloak of dark as I always do. It’s a combination of being an avid skywatcher and finding the nighttime silence relaxing.

Some painful things have transpired in my life recently, and I was doing the existential thing. Admittedly, that involved talking to whatever might hear me Up There.

Then I heard it.

“Reece! Sampson!”

Someone called for their pets. I wiped my tears and jogged over to her, shoes sticking in the mud.

“Did you lose your dogs?”

“Yes!” She was frantic, all terrycloth robe and unkempt hair. “Have you seen them?”

“No, but I’ll help you look. What are their names again? Reece and Sampson? What do they look like? Are they friendly enough to approach?”

“Oh, yes! Yes! They’re friendly. One’s shy but they’re friendly. Reece and Sampson, yes. One’s white, one’s black. Oh, thank you!”

I moved to the top of a small nearby hill to see if I could see anything. Nothing moved in the cover of night. An occasional car drove by, headlights illuminating nooks and crannies, revealing nothing out of the ordinary. My eyes drifted to a location heavy with memory, one that reminded me of my pain, but I moved beyond it and choked back personal issues. It was time to think of Reece and Sampson, of their owner, of the warm home they would come back to.

Pacing, jogging, calling for them, I searched.

It took about thirty minutes, and then I heard it. A rustling in the nearby grass.

“Pup pup!” I clapped, loud kisses dotting the quiet. “Reece! Sampson!”

Two dark shadows darted out, bowing, wiggling, wagging, barking. Yay! Play with us!

“Oh boy! C’mere, kiddos! Reece! Sampson!” I ran in the opposite direction, back toward their home.

And they followed. Running circles around me, their joy and exuberance infiltrated my sadness. For a moment, nothing else existed, just the chill of night and the sound of their paws rustling the grass. Their panting, their playful barks disturbing the quiet neighborhood park, none of us caring about the sleeping humans around us. Nothing mattered but that moment, that instant, that sacred space we created in our play.

They chased me home, and their owner cried. “Thank you, oh god, thank you so much!”

“I have a dog,” I said. “I can’t imagine losing her. It was my pleasure. Have a good night!”

More thank yous, and love all around for Reece, Sampson and their owner.

I walked home and the sadness returned, tears storming the gates despite my happiness for the reunited family. But for a moment, something else meant more to me than my own pain, than my own sorrow, more than mourning the joy I’d lost.

For a moment, the world and my heart were silent, save for paws in the grass.