Sunday afternoon. Do you know where your dog is?
I assume Abby is somewhere out there in the yard – the very large unfenced, 65-acre yard. She has become quite the farm dog. She has developed a mind of her own. Those who know her will argue that this has always been the case. But now – well – she has truly come into her own. When I tell her to come in or when I tell her to do bloody well anything, she gives me a look and a shrug and wanders off.
Okay – so she’s almost twelve years old. I take this into account. In a way, I suppose she has earned the right to ignore me. Why this was okay for her to do half a dozen years ago – well, I have no answer to that.
She seems happy. Smug, actually. Queen of all she surveys.
The truth of the matter is, I suspect she is out near the dung pile eating horse poop. So, my calling her in for dinner, won’t have any effect either. She’s foraging for herself.
At any rate, we had a nice walk in the woods this morning. It’s warm and sunny and if Abby ever comes in, I am going to settle down and watch “The Art of Racing in the Rain.” I downloaded it a few days ago – hope the download worked. It didn’t the last couple of times but that was three or four years ago. Hopefully, I’ll be able to watch it.
I read the book ages ago. I cried at the end. I don’t expect the ending of the movie to be any better so I am armed with a fresh hanky. Hell, I cried earlier today reading a Calvin and Hobbes thing – the last goody-by of Calvin to Hobbes and all that. Sheesh.
Getting soft in my old age.