Go to the beach?
The dog may understand more vocabulary than I thought. Sure, he ignores me on the standard things: “Go lie down!” “Leave that alone!”, “Come back here!”. Just like a preschool child, or an adolescent… However, there are moments.
This afternoon, I said “Do you want to go to the beach?” and his eyes lit up. Without even checking the weather outside, he was ready to hit the road. Thankfully, I don’t have to go in a straight line. A detour by the museum, to see if the movie crew was still there, and a detour via the Tarantum were hardly a distraction. Even my sitting in the sand with a small shovel seemed to meet his idea of a fun time. The beach! The beach!
We didn’t stay long, because the rain…
Anyhow, I might have to be more careful about what I say in front of the tailed one. He might have finally caught on to my accent.
This is the night when I deliver a month worth of recycling to the side of the road. Feels victorious, to have diverted so much stuff from the (now non-existent) landfill site. All my carefully folded cardboard cartons, and the blue bags filled with all of the abandoned packaging from our lives. So far, I haven’t received a single red tag (that’s not a good thing to receive, according to friends in the know). Nor have I tried to divest any large, heavy articles. Give me another year or so to lull the truck guy into thinking I’m an easy pickup.
