Old Age & Summer

Saki. Okay, he's cute. But why doesn he have to play all the time?

This morning, he threw his toy on Joan's keyboard.

He's got his nose in everything. Why can't he be like—well, like me?

Old age, summer, sleep. I admit I’m getting impatient with puppies and noise. But, I still like to eat. No more walks. I sometimes allow myself to be coaxed out of the gate, but then I just sit there and no one can move me, not for love, not even for food. That’s what happens when you’re old in the summer and like to sleep.

When the cool weather is back, maybe, just maybe, a jaunt in the park will be in my future. Well, maybe jaunt is too extreme a word. How about hesitant stroll? Reluctant ramble? Unwilling promenade? No promises, mind you.

The people who ate all the ice cream moved away. Now the ice-cream truck goes by and the man doesn’t make as much money. But, there’s also not so much garbage in the street. Well, there's not so much on our street, but I bet it's somewhere.

Shane had a bath yesterday. Joan says I'm next. Alas.

Best wishes, Juno