Did you ever dream that you were a dog agility super champ except then it switched and you were at some germy, grungy, derelict seaside park in the dark and the carnies were actually drug addled zombies that were shambling after you with hammers and their big teeth? And then as you're trying to escape your way out from under their oily, horrible claws by clambering up a rat infested palm tree, you're all, this is about dog agility like, how?
07 August 2016
Hot and cold.
We like to sneak out when it's cool. Around here, no one much likes the cool. It's foggy, it's early, it's quiet, what's not to like?
In the cool, it looks like there are 19 other people out there. We give each other space. All 19 of us. Total. That's it. Maybe because the cool is in the early, too. This is our best time.
When we hear voices up on the trail, ones that aren't ours, that's our cue that early's done. Late is coming, and the rest of the everybody else. Numbers far greater than 19. That's when we pack it up and head back up the hill. To go hide.
In the afternoon comes the hot. Around here, that might be relative. But it feels hot to us.
Luckily, the agility field has a giant water bowl big enough for the red ball and cool damp grass. With zika free mosquitoes. We do some agilities, we sit around, we do some more, we sit around.
We hide out here, til maybe the late. When it gets cool. Gustavo loves his chair. Banksy loves her dogwalks. And her new thing, her completely independent pushes to backsides of jumps no matter what my flailing arms and snail legs are doing. And everybody else, except for that 19 and change, goes back in or somewhere else. Then we head back out. Into the cool.
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1 comment:
Ah. You late/hot sounds wonderful.
Do a little agility, sit around... bliss.
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