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After an early rise, I returned to bed for a mid morning snooze. Fips crawled in after me and snuggled into my side, resting his snout on my left shoulder and placing his right paw over my bicep, as I petted his head and draped my right arm over his haunchies. And there we lay for quite a while, in Cuddle Mode, the smooth and the fuzzy in their presence.
My mind always wants to know, what is he thinking? But what am I thinking? About this? Not much of anything because there isn't anything really to think about. I simply am pleased to feel the warm, and gently heaving presence of his fuzzy-wuzziness and there is no reason to think he is not other than pleased at having my fleshly warmth envelope him. And so, we shared our contements.
It had stopped raining and so at mid afternoon I drove over to the athletic field. As usual no one was there. The air was chill and brisk with a hint of damp and a slight breeze. I walked over to the area which has been cleared of trees and which now lay covered with wet chips and mulch. Rosco forged on up the trail while Fips engaged in some slow poking and precision sniffing. I rolled my eyes, and guessed it was going to be another one of those walks.
Then all of a sudden Fips picked up a trot and from a trot to a canter. From time to time he'd come to an abrupt stop, not to rest, but to sniff something before giving a little up and trotting on forward. He was clearly in Friskie-Mode. At one point, I turned around and caught him balancing himself on the cement base of something, like a fuzzy statue on its pedestal. He then hopped off and charged at me, his ears flapping like wings.
After that, he went full bore, running around and across the field, with virtually no stopping either for sniffs or breaths. Rosco would fall back and catch up, and every once and a while the two brothers would run alongside one another. But the real energy was with Fips and it was amazing to behold.
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My mind always wants to know, what is he thinking? But what am I thinking? About this? Not much of anything because there isn't anything really to think about. I simply am pleased to feel the warm, and gently heaving presence of his fuzzy-wuzziness and there is no reason to think he is not other than pleased at having my fleshly warmth envelope him. And so, we shared our contements.
It had stopped raining and so at mid afternoon I drove over to the athletic field. As usual no one was there. The air was chill and brisk with a hint of damp and a slight breeze. I walked over to the area which has been cleared of trees and which now lay covered with wet chips and mulch. Rosco forged on up the trail while Fips engaged in some slow poking and precision sniffing. I rolled my eyes, and guessed it was going to be another one of those walks.
Then all of a sudden Fips picked up a trot and from a trot to a canter. From time to time he'd come to an abrupt stop, not to rest, but to sniff something before giving a little up and trotting on forward. He was clearly in Friskie-Mode. At one point, I turned around and caught him balancing himself on the cement base of something, like a fuzzy statue on its pedestal. He then hopped off and charged at me, his ears flapping like wings.
After that, he went full bore, running around and across the field, with virtually no stopping either for sniffs or breaths. Rosco would fall back and catch up, and every once and a while the two brothers would run alongside one another. But the real energy was with Fips and it was amazing to behold.
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1 comment:
jubilation!
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