The Dog Days of Summer

Me and the dog, we’re sympatico.  A couple of middle aged ladies getting tired and chubby together.  Well, technically she’s only fat in the winter when it’s too cold to go to the park, but I can waddle around all summer secure in the knowledge that she’ll catch me up in a few months.

This year we’ve really had an amazing summer, with most days hitting the high 20s, or even into the 30s.  I know, I’m sure we’re meant to be grateful, but most days we loll around like flowers wilting in the sun until we can get our toes into some cold river water down at the dog park.

No, seriously … my doctor wants to know if I’m still getting hot flashes; well how am I supposed to know, when I live in a hot yoga studio?

At night it gets down as low as the mid 20s, or about +50 in my bedroom.  Now far be it from me to complain, but hubby went out and bought a window-mounted air conditioner because he couldn’t stand the night-long tossing and turning, and huffing and puffing.  I did sleep in the basement from time to time, but it was even hot down there.

Swimming around like a little old lady doing breast stroke in the pool

And I’m not sure whether it’s heat stroke or old age, but something peculiar has happened to the dog…

Usually we both skirt around life, avoiding scary situations (albeit different ones: she’s afraid of thunderstorms, the woodpecker on our roof, unexpected plastic bags, and most other things; I’m afraid of heights, speed and people turning up uninvited when the house is a mess – ie always).

I thought we had an understanding, but now she’s gone and got all adventurous on me.  It’s making me look bad.

She’s always liked to dip a genteel toe into the river and have a little paddle.  She’ll even swim for the ball if I throw it out of her depth; maybe even twice.  After that she slopes around directing sullen glares in my direction, refusing to drop the ball until we’re well out of chucking range of the river.

Now, my timid friend has started going right into the deeps and swimming graceful laps up and down; up and down.  All she needs is a dusty blue bathing cap, a couple more dogs and she’ll be ready for a synchronized swimming team.

When she’s wet she does a very convincing impression of a coyote

We’re not exactly sure what kind of dog she is, except that she herds like a border collie, is golden like a retriever, kills tennis balls like a terrier and is a big booby like a german shepherd.  She’s afraid of big dogs, blissfully unaware that she is one herself.

No, she’d much rather run with the little guys, but while she was out for her constitutional the other day, she was passed by a rambunctious pair who chased a toy into the deep water and then fought over it all the way back to the beach.

Now this would normally be her cue to run away and hide in a bush, but she swam over and looked longingly at their game as if she wanted to join in.  The dorky kid at the edge of the playground, desperately hoping for an invitation. to play

Of course now we’re home and she’s back to sloping around looking like she’s waiting for her next beating, but I’m sure those triumphs will always be with her.

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