As I jogged up the driveway I was greeted by his eager, expectant face in the window. He had been concerned as to my well being, and his eyes showed visible relief at the sight of me. His ears flattened as our eyes locked. Eight months old, he has just developed the ability to catapult himself off the floor onto the table so that he can view the outdoors. This requires Herculean effort and is reserved for critical situations like my absence.
Flattered by his worry, I decided reward him. I opened the front door and allowed him to bolt. Not bothering with the stairs, he launched himself off the top step and sailed to the ground, spreading legs as wings, landing with the grace of a four-legged gymnast. Without skipping a beat he raced into the park and initiated a full-fledged investigation of the grounds.
Joyous and free, ecstacy in motion, he pranced and danced among the rose bushes and trees, stopping to sniff at whatever he fancied. Then he'd take off, full speed ahead, basking in the power of his perfectly functioning skeletal-muscular system, running like blazes because he could. He was proud to be himself; in fact, he was elated to be alive, clearly thrilled by the wondrous world in which he romped. The squirrels escaped into their trees just in time, but it was all about the chase after all.
Marvelling at this virtuosic display of joie de vivre, I thanked my teacher with a hunk of Braunschweiger.