Here I am, out here on the porch again, thinking about getting my sweatshirt. The blessed, blessed fog is rolling back again, both last night and tonight, and while we’re inland enough to still heat up during the day, it’s cooling down with a smack now that the sun is setting. That makes for one happy Rachael.
I am also made happy by the fact that I ran today, with the Most Perfect Dog. I hadn’t run for over a month. I think in running you get about two or three weeks’ grace. You can jump back in and barely notice you haven’t been out in a while. More than a month and you feel like you’re an elephant with adenoids.
But it was bearable because I was with La Clarita. Clara is the BEST dog. This was really only the second time I’d taken her running. I took her out the first week I had her, and the next day she was limping, and the day after that, she had a sore on her paw that turned into a horrible mess. Turns out it was a foxtail that had gone up and through her paw, and she’d probably come with it, but I didn’t know that at first and I thought the run had broken her.
Since she healed, it’s just been too bloody hot. Down by the marinas, I’m sure it would have been cool enough for her to run, upper sixties, low seventies, with a cool breeze every day, but at our house, where we were living with ninety degrees and up inside, and hotter outside, you couldn’t pay me to put on Spandex running shorts. No way in hell (which we were very close to at that point).
Today was cool enough to try it. And know what? Surprise: she was perfect at it. I’d say, “Let’s go fast!” and I’d adjust the adjustable leash that was strapped to my waist pack. She’d run right next to me, with slack in the short leash. She looked up at me often, with a face that clearly said, “This is fun! Let’s go fast!” Then, when I tired, I’d say, “Okay, that’ll do.” I would release the catch on the leash, and she could play out on the line, sniffing in front of us, and straying behind fifteen feet, but always coming back when the leash went taut.
Also, I hate to brag, but she’s the star pupil in her obedience class. She learned “leave it” in three tries, and then turned her head AWAY from the hot dog when offered. Now, I don’t think even I would do that. I loves me a hot dog with mustard and a little sauerkraut.
Okay, the smells out here are weird tonight. I swear I smelled lamb being cooked on a grill, and now there’s a noxious smell that reminds me of cigarette smoke mixed with bleach. What does meth smell like? Oh, my god. I’m going inside. Can you smell meth? Really, I don’t know. We don’t live on a crack street, but we certainly are adjacent to one (the helicopter is over our house as I type this – it is often over our house).
Pictures now. Alison is right – they’re all cell phone pics nowadays, but you don’t mind much, do you? The real camera tanked, and we haven’t been able to afford a new one. And my cell is always on me, you know? At the ready.
I refashioned it into this CYOOTE skirt. Chop off the top so that it’ll be length you want, chop off the arms if they’re still on, pin in the shape you want (try it on, carefully) and sew up the side. No modeled shots, sorry. Skirts are hard to model.
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