A(nother) cold and wet morning

The ground is so saturated it's not funny.

Or, actually, it is.

Every step I take leaves an indent. It's humble compared to the craters cows leave or the Grand Canyon of Mud my neighbor's 4WD has gauged, but still - there's hundreds of footprints of mine here. Hundreds.

Even The Dog leaves footprints on the ground, and she's like, what, 13 kg? 14?

It's nuts.

Talking of The Dog: she's such a grand character I sometimes wonder, did I overestimate how grand of a character I am, seeing how overwhelmingly pain in the a$$ she sometimes is to me?

I have a whole collection of dinosaur toys with missing legs. Boots with chewed tops. Muddy prints on the kitchen door. Scratchmarks on the outside door. (Talking of which: dog, can we make a deal that when you're outside and I call you in and you don't want to come inside, then when you do change your mind, how about you let me know by doing one short, high-pitched bark? How about you don't try to scratch your way in straight away?) I have a child who's learned to throw himself against the wall when he hears this train of a dog coming down the hallway.

There's also a whole array of "Aww" moments when she sits in front of the sink, with her head between my knees, whilst I do the dishes; and the way she sprawls out in front of the fire in the evening.

But, man, does she have energy or what.

I know I wanted a working dog, but a working, working, working, working, working dog? She's the sort of a dog that, I can imagine when she's older, would be perfectly happy trailing through Newfoundland swamps retrieving ducks during hunting season, or being up in the mountains 24-7 helping her handler dig out avalanche victims. That sort of a dog.

1 comment:

  1. My one piece of advice: get a frisbee if you haven't already got one.

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