The tree have just tipped past peak here. The golds bent more toward brown than green. I can see a maple at the end of the pasture – one that will become part of the pond some day – and it sways just so slightly in the autumn afternoon.
I have not seen much of these days outside of late – many projects require that my hands be tied to bits and keys. I miss outside.
But in a couple hours, Philip will return home, and Meander and I will pry ourselves from the comfort of this couch – I”m here because of a sprained ankle; she’s here because she’s a spoiled dog. We will go outside with a small, rubber soccer ball.
Philip or I will throw it downhill just to watch Meander leap and spin to a stop as she overshoots it. She nearly goes end over end down the bank at the south side of the farmhouse, and her stop is nearly cartoon as she skids and tries now to slide off the terrace and down into the pasture. Then, she grabs the ball and runs full-tilt up the hill to . . . and then past us. Keep away is a favorite game.
Sometimes, she comes close on purpose so that I can win at tug of war and she can run again.
It’s not a bad way to close out a busy day at desks and measurement tools. It leaves Philip and I laughing and clapping – the pooch’s very own cheering section. And when, in time, the mad dash of repetitiveness ends, Meander returns to us and comes inside to collapse on the couch. A day well-spent.
Sometimes, the dog’s life is just the perfect thing for the humans.