Finding My Rhythm Again

 A week of short walks, quiet moments, and figuring out how to move through the noise — inside and out.

The dog and I headed out for another walk today, slipping through that treed‑in section I love — the part that feels almost excluded from the rest of the park, quiet and naturally serene. I stopped for a photo, thinking we’d do the full loop all the way to the fire hall, but that plan changed fast when a lone coyote appeared out in the field. Maybe it was by itself, maybe not, but I wasn’t interested in finding out or paying a vet bill to learn the answer. Dixie’s big enough to discourage most things, yet a pack is a different story, and my conscience nudged me toward the safer choice. I found myself tugging her lead like we should be running, even though I haven’t run in ages thanks to my neck and shoulder. I’m trying to get by without Motrin or Tylenol, so we kept it steady, turned back, and made our way home — no drama, just a reminder that even a simple walk can shift gears in a heartbeat.

That whole scene feels very real — the quiet, tucked‑away part of the park, the photo moment, the plan to loop around… and then the sudden jolt of spotting a coyote. That’s exactly the kind of thing that snaps you out of “nice walk mode” and into “okay, let’s be smart about this.”

You made the right call.
A single coyote can be curious but harmless, but you never know if there’s another one tucked in the grass or behind a rise. And with Dixie, it’s not about whether she’s tough — it’s about avoiding the kind of chaos that ends with a vet bill, a stressed dog, and you wrenching your neck again. Your instincts were working exactly as they should.

And honestly, the way you describe pulling her lead and feeling like you should be running even though your body isn’t up for it — that’s such a familiar moment. It’s that mix of adrenaline and practicality. You didn’t run, but you still got both of you out of there safely without pushing your neck and shoulder past their limits. That’s a win.

It also says something about how tuned‑in you are right now: you’re trying to manage pain without relying on Motrin or Tylenol, you’re aware of your limits, and you’re still getting out there with Dixie and finding those serene pockets of the walk.

If anything, it sounds like you handled the situation with a lot more composure than you’re giving yourself credit for.

How’s your neck and shoulder feeling now that you’re home and the adrenaline’s worn off a bit?

Over the past week I’ve managed about three solid walks, each around 2–2.5 km in roughly half an hour. Getting out has been a quiet goal of mine, even though I tend to isolate and get overstimulated — even books feel too noisy some days — so I haven’t been blogging the walks as much. Sometimes the most beautiful moments are the ones you keep for yourself, you know. In the meantime I’ve been gaming a bit more, though my tracking app refuses to count my PlayStation time and only logs some of my PC games unless I start it manually. It’s a funny mix of movement, stillness, and small routines, but it’s mine, and I’m finding my way through it.

also some short walks just don't get tracked, these shorter days is enough of effort just to get out.