Yesterday, after I went to a follow-up appointment about the colonoscopy with “the butt doctor”,  Summer and I celebrated the sun and rising temperature by mowing. She was on the Toro cart mower and I manned the Wheel Horse – we mowed for hours at Mother’s. We took the dogs and, of course, Shane did his constant barking at the mowers thing – so we stuck him in the house. HA! Try to learn from that, Furdog.

He barked from the enclosed porch at me as I chugged across the front yard. When we finished the front and east part, Summer went in to get him because I thought we could tie him to a tree out back and he could bark without bothering anyone. He strained at the end of the cable and barked. So she began to throw the Wubba for him and then we let him off his cable and he chased the Wubba and brought it back and didn’t bark. For awhile. Then he remembered he liked to bite at the wheels and I discovered a really sour-faced look  and a stiff arm, hand and finger point right at his nose made him back off.

I had my camera in my pocket, but I had forgotten the battery in the charger. No pictures. Maybe just as well because Summer might have captured the sour-faced point maneuver and, according to her, it ain’t a pleasant sight.

This morning I am looking at grey sky again. That might be a good thing since my muscles are aching from yesterday.

And as I sit here resting, I am wondering how these stories will translate into Summer’s retelling some forty years from now when I am long gone . . .