No wonder Michael is such a great, well-trained support dog. When he learns a thing, he doesn't forget. I've mentioned before that, having been stung once on a paw, if he hears or sees a wasp or bee, it's "Buh-bye, I'm outta here!" Perhaps it was that experience or maybe just his cautious nature, but I've never known a dog to be so careful of his feet. Most dogs are oblivious to where they're walking or running. Michael is not. He carefully sidesteps any mown star thistle, picking his way in the field. He's not fond of walking through drifts of dead leaves, sure there are painful lurking landmines. He'd prefer the dirt road, and I feel bad that most of the driveway is gravel. Michael is, in the strictest sense of the word, a tenderfoot.
The days are warming up again, but the nights have stayed cool. The blanket is back on the bed, and I'm grateful for my warm bedfellows. They're back in cold-weather routine, taking their self-assigned places. I wake up in exactly the same position in which I fell asleep, having been nailed in place with a cat on either side. They're very heavy sleepers (that's a joke, son).
Stay safe. Be well.
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