A couple years ago, my husband and I were camping with our dog, Paxton. We have a camper we pull with our pickup and we were at the campsite, all set up. Ready to enjoy a walk. 

As per most campground rules, we hooked the dog on a leash, walked throughout the park, and walked back to the camper. The campsite was down a hill a ways, beside a nice smooth asphalt road. I had reached the camper first and turned back to wait for my husband and his dog. Probably waiting to get inside to use the bathroom!

As I stood waiting, I could see behind them, up the hill. 

The dog was wandering back and forth, enjoying digging and nosing for bugs or squirrel droppings. 

From the top of the hill, a bike rider, wearing a helmet, flew down the road. He could either go straight or ride past us, on down the hill.

He took the hill.

From my perspective, I could see Paxton, hooked to his extension leach, roaming back and forth across the road—from one side to the other. 

If I didn’t warn my husband to pull the dog in short, he might cause the bike rider to be tripped by the leash or the dog. At the speed the rider was going, it had the potential to cause him some injuries and possibly our dog as well. 

I yelled for my husband to pull the dog in and he did. Just in time.

He didn’t understand my urgency until the biker sped past.

Perspective.

My husband couldn’t see the potential for danger behind him.

And I couldn’t see behind me.

We need each other. To watch each other’s backs. 

To warn of danger lurking behind us.  

I'm studying perspective.

More to come.