For those of you out there who have a dog, you know what walking outside in the winter can do to you. It is a battle on the extra cold days. Do you get up off your lazy butt and walk the dog or do you skip it and have the dog begging for attention and driving you crazy all night? Some days the choice is easier than others. Some days our dog doesn’t even want to go out because it is too cold.
Last year while taking my mutt for a walk on a cold day I saw the name Murphy in the most beautiful script written in the snow. This wasn’t just any writing. It was the kind of perfect cursive writing I remember reading on the chalkboard in my Grade 3 classroom. Mrs. Bailey had the nicest handwriting.
Other than admiring the penmanship, I didn’t really think much about it. After a skiff of snow I figured it would be all gone. Over the course of the winter, Murphy’s name kept appearing. Some days the finger writing was every few blocks. I would sometimes find myself daydreaming about Murphy. I came up with some amusing dramas in my head. One story involved starcrossed lovers who were communicating in code. In this scenario, writing Murphy in the snow was a signal that their parents were out for the night.
Some nights my thoughts were more practical. Was Murphy a first name or a last name? Some nights my thoughts about it were more melancholy. Was it some lonely teenager walking the street? Was the signature a cry for help? Was it a sad senior walking around wondering if anyone was paying attention? I am sure the stories I came up with had more to do with my mood than any reality out there. Still, I started to print my dog’s name beside Murphy’s just in case.
My husband came home one night after walking the dog and asked “Who is Murphy?”
I laughed. I wasn’t the only one intrigued by the mystery. I naturally began to assume that whoever Murphy was also took a walk almost daily. I began including the random strangers I ran into during my walks in on my elaborate storylines. It was fun to think that the guy down the street was really a spy.
When I was lucky enough to go for a walk after a dusting of snow I would casually watch people to see if they were the ones writing in the snow. One day I caught the culprit at a distance with her finger in the snow. It was clear to me that she was trying to be sneaky. Then again I may have been victim to my own sense of drama at this point.
I ran to catch up and confront her head on. If by “head on” you think I mean I asked her by hollering at her from across the street you’d be right. She admitted to the deed and I complimented her finger writing ability. We had a brief conversation about what she was doing and why. I told her how much I had enjoyed the mystery of it all. She and her partner laughed and went on their merry way.
I would tell you who Murphy is but truth be told I wish I never found out. I prefer the mystery. I don’t want to ruin it for you. There is so much life in the mystery of things and we are all connected by the webs of our actions.
Murphy’s signature is out there again this winter. Last week someone wrote “Who is?” in the snow above Murphy’s name. That makes me smile. I hope someone else is on the adventure of finding Murphy. For the rest of us, never underestimate your ability to inspire others, even in the smallest ways.
Thank you Murphy for making the mundane chore of walking my dog an adventure. You brought me joy and that is always a noble endeavour. It is cold out there; I hope you stay warm.
