It’s hard to catch a photo of Lou when she’s speeding like a Formula One racer towards a thrown dummy or her favorite Kong ball. Or when she leaps high in the air, agile and graceful as a dolphin. But the little Lab not only has moves, she has moods.
Here, Lou is sitting in my desk chair, looking at the computer screen as if pondering the strange world her human inhabits.
It was twenty degrees at 6:30 this morning when I slid open the glass door in the living room nearest the kitchen to let Lou out to pee. The concrete was icy. She didn’t like it, but made it the eight feet to the grass. She bounced around in the icy crunch, a blur of brown fur on four pogo sticks. She squatted to pee, watching me like dogs do while I stood in the warm house.
I opened the door for Lou to run back in. No dice. She paced on the grass right at the edge of the concrete, but wouldn’t step onto it. I called her. She whined. I held up a toy. She barked. Finally, I pulled on my boots, got a treat from the pantry, went to the foyer for her leash, and traversed the icy patio myself, stepping carefully. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t like it, either.
Lou took the treat (of course) then jumped all around. “Sit!” She tentatively hovered her rear end over the icy grass and allowed me to click the leash onto her collar. I took a careful step forward, she resisted, and the collar slipped easily off her neck. Fortunately, instead of dancing away, she seemed eager for me to slip it back over her head again, then took one step with me and dashed for the house, leash and all, leaving me flailing. I stepped slowly, deliberately on the slick surface and closed the door behind us. Adventure over.
Last night, Lou snuggled while Buck and I ate chicken soup by the fire.
And later, we read our books into the wee hours, while Longleaf Lou dreamed.
For The Daily Post word prompt: agile.