#130
Are we saying goodbye to idle Augusts?
We were at the dog park. The air was still, it was 43C at 8PM.
Me: I’m only here for the dogs.
Her: same.
We had met there before, a few times. Our dogs never played together much. Just did the ritual of the smells, then did other things.
The dogs didn’t seem to feel the heat. On one end of the newly sodded field, someone dumped a big pile of ice.
Me: not sure how I feel about the ice.
Her: it’s for the Huskies.
True, there were a number of huskies, my dog’s favorite breed to play with, and true, they did like the ice — rolling in it, peeing on it, chomping it down.
After nearly an hour of ruckus, he was sitting next to me, waiting.
Me: he’s ready.
Her: he has a nice way of telling you.
Later, at home, I drank a glass of bad chardonnay and the dog was asleep on the stone floor under the ceiling fan.
Dog days of summer.