An Existential Moment
This morning I headed out for a walk with Spur wearing a light, pullover shirt/jacket that I’ve had since . . . middle school? High school? I can’t remember. Sometime around eighth grade. I know I had it in ninth grade, because I was wearing it the first time I rode Tigger. I mean, the first time I successfully rode Tigger; the actual first time I rode him only lasted about eight seconds, so there wasn’t time to snap a photo, which is the only way I know what I was wearing that first real ride.
Anyway, I was wearing that shirt and thinking about how long I’ve had it–a good fifteen years. And that made me think about a handful of other shirts I’ve had for at least fifteen years. Which naturally inspired this thought: Sheesh, do I ever have a tendency to hang on to clothes.
And then, Good grief, I’m getting old. I have clothing items that are almost old enough to go to college. And I still wear them. Mostly for working out or horseback riding, but still.
And then, Oh my goodness, I have become my dad. Once a clothing item comes into his possession, it never, ever leaves. Almost never. In fact, I have a hand-me-down long sleeved hooded t-shirt from him that I’m pretty sure is about as old as I am.
So, when I got home from walking, I did the only natural thing and changed into my dad’s old shirt. It made me feel young again.
Spur’s Bad Day
Today my church had a work day. We met up at the building and spent the morning raking leaves and enjoying each other. Dogs were invited so I brought Spur along. And it started great. She had a good time sniffing around outside (she doesn’t get to spend a lot of time outside these days, and never off-leash). But then, just when it seemed like she was finally going to play with the other dog there, she picked a fight instead. Ugh. It wasn’t a bad fight, mostly noise, but she did come away with a little cut on one of her ears. She spent the rest of the morning sitting around looking pathetic with one ear flopped sideways and her head tilted.
And then, after lunch when she seemed to be feeling better, we played ball for awhile (something else she never gets to do up here), and she was having a great time! That is, until she somehow managed to break the dewclaw on her left paw. It’s clearly painful, but I’m pretty sure nothing can be done about it.
And her bad day dragged mine down too. Only now, I get to do homework while she takes a nap. Even on bad days, dogs have the good life.