Ecstatic wriggle

Yesterday, the Duo and I reveled in an evening hike. R looked distinguished in the tall golden grass of the meadow.

And, for once, K was the goofier one in the Duo, rolling and wriggling to her heart's delight. She seems absolutely fine after my mistake yesterday. Thank goodness. And, thanks to my vet for advising me, several years ago, to choose a food for R that wouldn't kill K if she ate it.

Thanks to all of you who helped me to stop be angry at myself about my mistake. Your comments were so supportive.

During yesterday's hike, to prove to me that she felt great, K demonstrated the art of an ecstatic snow wriggle:

When preparing to get up, use your head for leverage.

Shake as you get up.

Try to pull yourself together when you realize that a camera is pointed at you.

Say: "Who me? I wasn't being goofy."

After hiking and wriggling to the sounds of chickadees singing their spring songs and woodpeckers drumming on hollowed out tree trunks, we arrived up high to see the sunset.

We explored the plateau for a while, waiting for the final glory of the sky and mountains. As we explored, I slipped on an invisible ice patch and hit the ground hard. I lay still on the forest floor taking inventory of my body to see if I was OK (I was fine except for a sore neck). Meanwhile, the Duo sprinted over to me. You might think that they were running over to rescue me like Lassie might do. But, no, they were checking if my treat bag was open when I fell. They've learned that a wild tumble sometimes means a treat bonanza. Now that's true love.

Actually, it is. After finding a dearth of treats on the ground, K sat next to me, leaning against me in a comforting way. She stayed that way until I clambered to my feet like a stiff octogenarian. Ah, the love of a dog...