Sunday it spit stuff out of the sky all day. Hard chunks of something. We walked anyway because she wasn't going to let me get away with not. And that's okay because I don't like giving up the chance to pick up smooth stones for my pockets. And I don't like missing the chance to see her run through the forest like a deer being hunted. She disappears for awhile and then reappears huffing and puffing, foaming at the mouth. I know some day she'll be old and not leap over logs or sniff a trail like she does now. She sometimes stops with me when I look at ramps poking through the dead leaves. But generally she is always on the move, running three or four times the amount I walk. She barks at me if we haven't gone for a walk yet. She knows she deserves one a day. She knows I deserve one too.
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