When we began to walk with Syd’s dogs, Syd pointed to an area that would flood, come winter. That seemed unlikely at the time, but sure enough —.
For the last few months (it’s spring now) the dogs have joyfully frolicked in the water there, Benji settling in like the water dog. Yesterday he not only did that, he also rolled in it. Unfortunate, because the “pond” is drying up, and becoming mud. And, given cows that sometimes graze in the area, rather smelly mud at that. Cleaning a dog that smells of cow dung is not my favorite thing, so …
… today I took him to the beach instead. Our usual walk is about three kilometers (a bit under two miles). Depending on the hour, sunlight level, and wind, we walk one direction or the other, but one thing is certain: during the half kilometer on the beach, I will be throwing a stick for Benji, into the waves, the entire time.
But only if he drops the stick directly in front of me, or very close. Which he does. Sometimes he actually throws it in my path.
And good sticks are not always available. Much of the crap that washes up ends up breaking. So, when I get a good stick, I like to leave it in the dunes at the end of the walk. I took a picture a few days ago at the east end; thinking it remarkable that one in the foreground had been with us for at least four walks (good stick!).
Today we started again at the west end (afternoon; bright sun behind), and I was amused to find a collection of three sticks, obviously mine, at the west end, the buried boardwalk.
Here one has joined the collection at the east end.
For some reason, brings to mind T. S. Eliot, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”
No, sticks. Silly dogs and sticks.