Please pardon the cell shot.
My ankle has not entirely healed, but it's been nine weeks since the original owie, and I'm tired of not walking, doing yardwork, gardening, etc. It's a torn tendon, and takes time to heal, especially since I'm no spring chicken.
Heck, I'm old enough to say, I'm no spring chicken.
Mr. Cynic and Captain Comic have been away for nearly three weeks now, and that means, between my ankle and the boys' absence, Lucy has not been walked.
She has started to pee the rug and chew things again, much like when we first adopted her from the SPCA, three and a half years ago. She chewed my aircast the other day. I took it as a sign to stop wearing it.
I'm talking about the dog, not Toots, who is in the stroller wearing the Red Sox hat.
After a few days worth of yardwork in the well over ninety degree heat and humidity of nearly one hundred percent, I say nearly, because if it were 100%, it would be raining all weekend, which it didn't, though it should have - horrible run on phrase within phrase, but I'm getting to it, really - I decided it was about time I took the dog and the girl for a walk.
It is summer after all.
The ankle survived. Sort of.
We saw a goose on the lake.
We saw lifeguards bored out of their skulls tossing a football across the pool, because it was too hot for anyone to swim, and dark thunderhead cumulous clouds were gathering.
We saw M, our 16 year old neighbor who asked when Mr. Cynic will be back, because the pool is no fun without him. She was surprised by how much Toots had grown, since she saw her as a newborn. I was surprised by how much M has grown. I should have asked if she's driving yet, but was in too much shock thinking how I met her as a tiny twelve year old.
We saw flowers and a low flying jet.
And we scooped a poop and carried it home.