A formula for joy

My ninth birthday was the day I got a puppy from the shelter. I was captivated by a bowlegged tiny Chihuahua with wiry hair and ears that seemed to grow from his neck. The pound contained a variety of stunning dogs, including huskies, German shepherds, elegant bluenose pit bulls, and even a redbone hound.

His hair was coarse and he had a musty corn chip aroma. Additionally, he consumed flies by grabbing them from the sky, like an awkward frog.

Alex was the name I gave him.

Those golden years were spent on our five acres of land. The property's hollow amid a natural hedge was my favourite area. The ideal hiding spot, with its dense, perilous interlock of branches that prevented anybody from entering the depression unless by a secret tunnel.

That night, I led Alex inside the hedge. What comes to me is the way the sunshine filtered through the foliage and blossoms, transforming the area into a kaleidoscope of warm coppery light and gentle brown shadows. In the faint light, my small dog's eyes gleamed like amber as he gazed up at me.

He finally slept off as I stroked him. My plan was to throw him off his game, so I slithered out of the hole and yelled out his name.

He shrieked in terror and began frantically yanking at the insurmountable branches.

He felt a sudden, crushing wave of fear. Once again, I ducked behind the hedge. Indelible in my recollection is the expression on his face: a mix of fear and delight, his eyes wide with…