PERKY

SOME people are feeling FINE from the comparatively low heat and humidity today, the plunge to a gorgeous 70 degrees at dusk, and day three of very slightly boosted anti-inflammatories.

So fine that even after a long day including a good walk in the Barkshires, they chased the neighbor’s cat.

Chasing cats is a high crime even if when they aren’t my special friends. Which this one is.

Gilly did rein himself in and come right back to me when I shouted, and show appropriate contrition by putting himself into a completely-flat down at my feet. But he’d hauled off after her like she was a squirrel and he was two. What you just did was so wrong, I mentioned. And you know it, too, don’t you. We walked back over to where Herself the Carnivore was hunting/hiding, and he made amends to the calico by lying down quietly and ignoring her. She gave me lots of love and  ignored him twice as loudly.

But then we ran into puppy-friend Marlowe, and Gilly regressed again: he beat the yout’ to a stick hurled far into the lake so many times in a row – dolphining and speedboating like a 5 year old – Marlowe actually starting barking in outraged disbelief.

Now he’s slapping the cookie jar with his paw, nosing me, and slapping the cookie jar again. Then hurling his Kong at the wall, in case I am very stupid and fail to understand his point.

.

“Geriatric.”

Sometimes: not so much.

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