This is pretty much how a normal day goes, and it might be boring, but that's just how it goes sometimes.

In the morning, I had to leave very early, and it was pitch black again when I got up. We have had a new hour added on to our days, but it arrives in the evening and in the morning, darkness fills that hour's void. My days are long right now, but I hustled my morning along so we could stop at our practice field, at least for a few minutes, on the way out to the ranch. I hustled out so fast and I wore unflattering pants and the very worst socks.

The grass was wet, but the sun was out, and I ran-dragged some obstacles around to build a Grand Prixish course. I left my coffee in the car. I made sure it had one of everything-maybe, my non dog agility friends, you will skip this long sentence that speaks of a lead out pivot to poles, an extendo send to a tunnel, a tight front cross to the teeter, a sharp slicey rear cross, a tunnel mouth calling to the dogwalk, a tricky pull through, an uncomfortable serpentine, and Gustavo's dreaded sending out left side right angle into the poles. We shall call this course Something for Everyone. If you're in to that sort of thing.

We all ran it, even Ruby, who I now realize sees agility as a place to follow my lead literally, her eyes see a course different than the other dogs. We ran enough times so that my feet were soaked and the dogs were drenched in grass dew and I was sweaty and after we ended with everybody frisbee, we were all panting and tired. This is how we look at 9am. It's not that I want to go to work covered in mud and sweat and disheveled and red, but i guess it's good to have a job where I can. It is a job that is a long drive from coffee, but far away from a computer or reruns of Lost.

First thing at work, on a beautiful day, I put my most lovely and favorite horses out first in their paddocks, so they can enjoy the sun and roll around in the dirt. Their feelings are important to me. The dogs lay on their saddle pads and slept hard. I sunk one foot deep into a mud bog, up past my ankle. The sound it made as it tried to suck me in and chew my boot to shreds under the water from last week's rain, only heard by me and my best horse and the turkeys down the hill. If you chuckle at the turkeys, quietly so they don't run, they fluff up their feathers and look like Thanksgiving. There was no time for that today.

All day that foot was wet through and through, and in the sun the footing has gone to dust in some places, which clings to skin on top of the sweat. By our extra hour though, the end of the day means no longer do I have leave along our bumpy road in the black, there is still enough sun to end the real day at the beach. Where once again, the shoes are wet, the pants legs now clinging in sea salt up to a wet muddy sneaker, as me and the dogs run out as far as we can to the surf line, everyone chasing after seashells I throw into the waves. Otterpop goes manic now for seashells, which was funny for a little while but gets a little scary eventually. We do this until sun goes down there, through the clouds and the air is dark again, just like how it started out.