One hundred degrees outside, ninety-six inside. At dusk last night Bessie and I went out to water wilting plants on the deck. She wanted to wade in her pool, and I turned the hose nozzle to "mist," pointed it in the air, and we both stood under the spray until we were soaked. I got to figuring that, in dog years, she is becoming my contemporary. No wonder we both puff like steam engines as we plod back up the hill, take our naps in the afternoon (or morning, or evening), creak a bit as we stretch, and sometimes have dessert before (or maybe instead of) eating dinner. We both get excited when company appears at the door, although she displays it better. Grey hair is starting to show on her muzzle; I've got her beat in the grey hair department. Robert Browning said, "Grow old along with me...." It's nice to have a companion to do just that.
One thing about it, we're never too old to play in the sprinkler!