dogwalk

Every Tuesday, I take part in what I believe to be a sacred journey to collect the vegetables.

Apparently, we are part of something called a CSA, where you support local farmers and in return they give you delicious in-season veggies. As the humans methodically select our vegetables for the week, I am showered with admiration from the lovely staff, fulfilling my community service obligations.

Afterward, we make an equally important stop at a friend’s house across the street, a magical place with something almost unheard of in our part of the world: a yard with real grass.

Today, in my unbridled enthusiasm, I ran so hard that I rubbed off part of my back paw pads.

Did I notice? Not at all. Would I do it again? Absolutely. Am I now being forcibly tended to against my will? Tragically, yes.

Let me assure you, it looks far worse than it feels. My paws are just delicate and uncalloused from a life of luxury and indoor living.

But I will persevere. I will heal. And next week, I will return to the yard.

Vegetables retrieved. Weekly community service fulfilled.

However, after our produce pickup, I marched across the street with purpose, ready to inspect the grass. But when we got there…

The grass was out of town?

Which makes no sense, because I could see it. Right there. Lush. Inviting. Completely present.

I’ve submitted a formal complaint to the gatekeeper (via prolonged whining at the fence).
No response yet.

Have any idea why the grass left town??🥲

Apparently the owners of the grass left town. AND NO CLUE!!! They know I come on Tuesdays!