Yesterday Clara was 20 minutes late for breakfast, unheard of. Kate stuck with me since her protective programming overrides all, but she was sorely tempted to stray.
85% of the back fields have been exposed rapidly over the last few days of rain and thaw. As a result, a smorgasbord of smells has exploded from the earth. Of course I can’t smell anything, but clearly it’s dazzling for dogs. A human equivalent must be the visual stimulation of Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Every time I try to catch a dog’s attention, they start toward me, then veer wildly to the left or right, nose to the ground, caught by the siren song of yet another scent trail. They stop at a hummock of grass, bury a nose deep within, snuffling, scratching with an exploratory paw, occasionally followed by consumption of god knows what – rotted vole? Deer poop? Fermented apples? Best not to look too closely.
I sheepishly wonder if this is me on the internet – constantly distracted, following random trails, consuming a lot of crap. Might be worse than eating deer poop.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 193: 184 words, TOTAL = 31,628; 29,372 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.