After a trip to the dog park, all she wanted to do was play.
We didn't bring a camera to the dog park this morning, so just picture two black blurs, each with a quick slash of red. That would be Riley and Rosie, running through the trees, leashes unattached but each still in their bright red harness.
This was Rosie's first visit to the dog park, and it was about as perfect as it could be. The trees have grown a lot since we were here last--probably four or five years ago, back when Boscoe could still enjoy himself trotting and running around.
A long time ago, I think.
The area that used to be merely marshy and unpleasant has been turned, over time, into a pond, with nesting waterfowl. The wide belt of wild grass that is a buffer between the water and the paths has grown scary tall, children of the corn tall, taller than Doug. A smallish young dog could get lost in there, I think. We stayed away, but there were plenty of other places to run--winding paths and a big open area where we played ball for a long time.
It was great to see Rosie flat-out run; she so seldom gets to do that, in the city. Just like when we were up north last spring, she took her cues from Riley, running full bore but always staying aware of where he was. When he changed direction, so did she.
When Riley slowed down (he is, after all, nearly 11), Doug and I took turns throwing the boomerang and the tennis ball for Rosie. She ran and ran, back and forth, dropping them well (as long as we gave her a treat) and none of that keep-away nonsense she does in the house. She wanted to play. She wanted to fly.
After forty or forty five minutes, she stopped retrieving and started sniffing, our clue that she was ready to go home. The tennis ball was completely rolled in sand by now, anyway, and the microfiber boomerang was filthy.
We loaded them back up in the Jeep and drove back to the house....where she grabbed her flying squirrel, her tennis ball, her puffy toy, and implored us: More fetching, please. And so we did.