Walking the dogs down the lane, waiting for Misty to catch up
(her hips are weak, but her spirits are strong).
Tipper’s way up ahead and
has to double back, putting in three times the distance as the rest of us.
The road is hot, sticky beneath our feet, the smell of asphalt mixes
with sweet pea and fir, creating the strangest blend of perfume.
The dogs pause often to practice the time honored tradition of sniff,
scratch, and pee.
Vegetable and flower gardens magically appear, between fir and oaks
A little further on down the lane, a pot of red geraniums vie with
golden poppies for attention, and win hands down.
The road stretches downward.... a dust covered black snake,
slithering into it's cool green hole.
The hair-pin turn seen through the trees signals the steep incline is coming up.
Young birds overshooting limbs, crash land in the brush.
After a moment of balancing, (and ruffled recovery) they are airborne again.
Misty’s tongue hangs from her mouth as the walk takes its toll.
Panting and puffing, we pause for a rest (while Tipper runs off again).
Young birds learning while our tired muscles are burning.
As the three of us....that's two old dogs and one young dog, head up the hill for home.