Super Fun Times

This weekend at RFL (rocky fork lake) was glorious. The quiet was intoxicating. In a renewing, refreshing kind of way. Miss Jackson came. She loves it there. Big woods with lots of stuff to smell, roll in and chase. Bigger lake with lots of water to swim in. She did none of that. She's still on "bed rest" after throwing her back out a few weeks ago. Her left leg still isn't working right. Nor is her ability to proactively poop outside. Nerve stuff we hope reconnects and rebuilds. Anyways, she was quite confused. Every few hours we'd take her outside, help her down the deck stairs and wait for her to lay waste. She'd wait for us to take her down to the lake. Or she'd grab a stick, get all excited and wait for us to throw it. She desperately wanted to play because in her mind she's fine. I really wanted to let her. But my keen human wisdom trumped her disgustingly cute k9 woo. Letting her do what she wanted would've hurt her. Pretty decent lesson to learn from a gimpy dog. Or these guys I guess.

Denying my poor dog of super fun times made me think about things I want(ed) and have not received. And I'm not sure how a book deal or motorcycle or new york city loft or international recognition for guitar skills or appreciation for poetry or rippling muscles without the work or trampoline shoes would hurt me. Maybe someday they won't. And I'll ride my Harley to my SoHo loft with a satchel full of my published work and guitar pics. The guitar would be in the side car. I bet I'll still hate poetry. And crunches.

Or I'll get none of it. And that'll probably be good too.