When I moved to Ulster County after 23 years in the city, I had a fantasy of what my life should be. It included living in an old house and having a dog trotting loyally by my side. I got the house and then adopted my very first dog, Java, a large, lean, silly Chocolate Lab known to bolt. I wanted to let him off leash but was terrified of losing him.

Two women, new acquaintances, invited me to walk with them and their dogs in the mornings. I was skeptical—not an early riser, I wasn't happy about the 8am call, nor changing my morning routine. But I thought I'd try it once. For Java.

After some anxious starts, I let Java off leash and saw that he'd come back to me. (Well, most of the time. Okay, some of the time.) His canine companions were a huge, lumbering White Shepherd, the alpha of the group, and a bouncy, sweet, caramel-colored Rhodesian Ridgeback. They both welcomed Java into their pack.

The dogs, my new friends, and I walked on trails in the woods, the magnificent Shawangunk cliffs our backdrop. We'd meet rain or shine: on annoyingly buggy summer days, rainy spring mornings, during hunting season and December blizzards. Our favorite hike went up a few steep hills, where we gazed at the dramatic rock outcroppings, past a fern field, down near rusted car parts, till it looped back around. We'd pick up red efts, examine owl pellets, gaze at the startling red patch of the red-winged blackbirds, and listen for the loud pileated woodpeckers.

Beyond the joy of seeing Java running free, there were the stimulating conversations with my new friends that I looked forward to as much as my morning cup of coffee. We shared personal triumphs and failures, and discussed everything from books to movies, politics to our love lives. Near the end of our loop, we often stopped and turned around to look at the spectacular cliffs behind us, the sky, the birds, the whole glorious day that was about to begin.

To my surprise, these morning dog walks, which started as a reluctant chore, had become my cherished morning ritual. I had begun to see things I never saw before in my old, bustling, New York City, pre–dog owning life. With the help of a 73-pound, galumphing hound, my life had morphed into something that wasn't quite my fantasy but was pretty darn close.