we’ve all been taking it kind of easy at our house this month. the temperature has been unseasonably cool and the sky gray. and that’s probably a good thing for Winnie, as she hasn’t been feeling particularly spritely. at nearly 15, her pace has slowed dramatically in contrast to when she lived in the mountains above Colorado Springs. now, those were some days.

back then, Winnie rarely slept in. she liked to hang out on the back deck, sniffing the crisp mountain air and, undoubtedly, all the native creatures who shared our property (with big cats nearby, Winnie never got to stay out on the deck too awfully long without human supervision). when she wasn’t surveying the outdoor scene, she spent her time wedged between me and the kitchen counter—every time i fixed a meal. another favorite pastime? sunning. if there was a patch of sunshine to be found in the house, Winnie would be in it. asleep on her back, with all four in the air.

a true-blue mountain dog, Winnie would hike valiantly by our sides (or pull so hard on her leash, she’d wear herself out). like that time on the Women’s Trail, when she laid down in the middle of the path and refused to go any further, forcing Tootie to carry her back to the car. Winnie’s sense of direction: as accurate as any GPS. like that time when she mysteriously got out of the yard, and got lost, and Lisa searched for and ultimately retrieved her from the home of a distant neighbor, who’d graciously corralled her. Winnie’s valor: unsurpassed. like that time we were instructed to evacuate during the Hayman fire, and she barked her butt off in the hotel room (and i was afraid we’d be ejected), until we put her up on the bed with us (don’t tell).

i always imagine when Winnie dreams (and her little feet are running in her sleep), she’s dreaming of her life as a Colorado mountain dog. my heart is there, too. with family and friends. with those who’ve lost their homes. and with the fire warriors, who tirelessly fight the good fight.