Walking the dog
Beautiful day, 14c. Warm enough to wear shorts and a long sleeve shirt. A light breeze blowing.
The smell of flowers everywhere. It has been raining the past two days which is a rare event for July. Everyone else seems to be suffering through heat dome events, but not us.
Our furnace came on the other night, guess we forgot to close a window someplace.
We see a few small dogs walking. Most of the little dogs are unfriendly and my big guy reacts to them, so we have to pass on opposite sides of the road. Occasionally we come upon a nice doggy and we can go visit. Sniffing butts is the key to a happy life apparently.
Rounding the corner for home my guy keeps stopping to sniff every blade of grass. There is a dog in heat around here someplace and he gets a tad excited.
The wind blows and I smell... hotdogs, like the kind you get at a circus, but there are no circuses around here, and who would cook a hotdog for breakfast?
The smell reminds me of my childhood, walking through the park, the carnival rides all lit up, girls screaming in laughter or fear or some combination. The smell of hotdogs, burgers, popcorn, candy floss in the air. The fun, the laughs. Good times.
Now we are home and it's just a memory, a passage in time. The dog goes downstairs to sleep on the cool tile floor, perhaps dreaming of a certain lady.
The smell of flowers everywhere. It has been raining the past two days which is a rare event for July. Everyone else seems to be suffering through heat dome events, but not us.
Our furnace came on the other night, guess we forgot to close a window someplace.
We see a few small dogs walking. Most of the little dogs are unfriendly and my big guy reacts to them, so we have to pass on opposite sides of the road. Occasionally we come upon a nice doggy and we can go visit. Sniffing butts is the key to a happy life apparently.
Rounding the corner for home my guy keeps stopping to sniff every blade of grass. There is a dog in heat around here someplace and he gets a tad excited.
The wind blows and I smell... hotdogs, like the kind you get at a circus, but there are no circuses around here, and who would cook a hotdog for breakfast?
The smell reminds me of my childhood, walking through the park, the carnival rides all lit up, girls screaming in laughter or fear or some combination. The smell of hotdogs, burgers, popcorn, candy floss in the air. The fun, the laughs. Good times.
Now we are home and it's just a memory, a passage in time. The dog goes downstairs to sleep on the cool tile floor, perhaps dreaming of a certain lady.
