The chi trio and I drove across town to try out a new dog park. It’s the kind of summer day with a wide, blown open blue sky with cumulus clouds that makes your heart sing. A cool breeze (Tiny Dog started her day in a fleecy), and lovely lovely sun. I chose a park open and vast, and when we got there, mid-week, morning, only three other dogs were there.
The park starts with a small wooden bridge and suddenly Wren’s leash went taut. I looked back and she was pancaked on the path. NO way, she said. That bridge will eat me.
So I carried her, her body rigid with fear. And lo, we made it across ok.
Above, swallows cut the blue sky. At one side of the park you could hear kids yelling at the city pool, at the other side, lowing cattle at the country fair at the coliseum.
George ran ahead, tongue out, Tiny Dog jumped up my left calf, and Wren was my body’s shadow, behind.
I picked up Tiny Dog—the view was better up there, of course. And it was a long way around, for her. A puggle joined us for half the loop, and I thought about the latte I wanted when we were done. Mostly though, I looked up, I looked down, I kicked up dust, and I called to my pups.
|And after the park, a nap in the sun is imperative.|