Yesterday I saw a blue-eyed husky running down the sidewalk (the sidewalk, mind you, not the street, smart critter) with a veritable grin splitting his face. I think I heard a chuckle on the wind as he breezed by. A minute or so later, a strapping young thirty-something came trotting after him, muttering to himself. Then, as I rounded the corner (I was taking a studio break and driving to the thrift shop), I saw a pair of sunshine-dappled, leash-holding women. One leash had a dog on the end, one leash had none.
I can still hear that dog's chuckle.
And can someone please come over and tell me to stop taking so many Polaroids of my pets. I've been taking Saturdays and Sundays off to relax and catch up on my reading, and it seems like all I do is sip tea, read for a page, and then look up and one of them is in another position of unbearable sweet fuzziness and...well, if you have pets, you know how it is.
I read The Eight, by Katherine Neville, this weekend and it was history, chess, Russia, hidden secret codes, adventure, Algeria and all sorts of fun stuff. I couldn't put it down. As in, take it to the bathroom with me couldn't-put-it-down.