The folks who rent our pasture for their mules have a dog, Loopy, a four-month old female of standard poodle and some other heritage. They bring her with them when tending the mules, and like most pups, she has enough energy to run circles for five minutes straight before laying down for a minute to rest up for the next round. And so it was yesterday.
Our dog, a twelve-year old female of a multiple retriever breeding, spied her young friend from the dining room window and let DW know in no uncertain terms that she wished to have a visit with the pup to catch up on butt smells. DW obliged and our old dog came a-runnin' from the back door clear to the paddock gate, a feat of about 100 yards to which she is unaccustomed. Still, upon arrival, smiles abounded and smells were exchanged. Then play began, but only one dog engaged. The other, ours, perhaps as a form of self defense, and certainly expended, laid down.
I have been home two days after spending three at the Open Engagement conference. For much of Sunday night and Monday I have been writing, and occasionally reading, eating and sleeping. At the time I did not notice that I may have been the oldest person at the conference. Not that it mattered, for rest assured, I had no younguns bouncing off of my hind quarters. (And just as well, for even though it has been many years since learning this lesson, such distractions have consequences.) In fact, the few conversations I did have I found somewhat exhausting for my mind was already at capacity with seminars and presentations that cried for my deconstructive attentions. Any responses from me, I'm afraid, spewed forth much like the waters managed by the Army Corps of Engineers after heavy rains. If I made little sense then, I need to now.
That old dog of ours can barely move this morning, but she is not too tired and sore to raise her head once in a while and tell us about her time with Loopy.
Back to it...