Just took the Wonder Dog out for his nightly constitutional.
This time-honored ritual starts with the Dog bugging me mercilessly until I let him out. I open the barn door and he races into the yard at warp speed, beyond the glow of the porch light, past the Pooping Fields and out to the Back 40, where he’ll splash around in mud and dead things, happily play with the 38 wiffle balls he stole and hid there last summer, and blithely ignore the fact that I’m calling him from the safety of the porch.
Because *I’m* certainly not going wandering around the Pooping Fields in the dark.
In my lucky sparkly shoes.
That’s the USUAL course of events. Tonight, however, I let him out, and he was interrupted mid-bound off the porch by a rustling in the bushes.
He ALMOST beat me back inside.
We are SOOOO a pair of weenies.