It was my kind of day–64 degrees–and the sun was shining down warm. I got home before 5 pm. and decided to take Rosie outside in the backyard to play. I haven’t taken her into the backyard a lot. There are some gaps in our fence that a normal sized dog wouldn’t fit through, but a 3.5-pound dog can easily fit through.
I put on her collar and carried her to the back. I placed her on the ground with a “Go play, Rosie.” She stood still. She sniffed the grass. She looked at me. She stepped forward with one paw, and then she ran.
Rosie stood still. She sniffed the grass. She looked at me. She stepped forward with one paw, and then she ran.
She ran. She ran. She ran. And she ran. She ran in circles. She ran in lines. She ran and rolled into leaves. She ran and leaped for a stick. She ran, and I marveled. I laughed. I was captivated by her running. She was so joyous. So happy. So free. She ran with all she had, as fast as she could, as far as she could.
Finally, she ran and threw her body at my feet. She sprawled on the grass with her legs splayed behind and in-front of her, belly heaving on the ground. She looked up at me, cocked her head, and seemed to say, “That was great fun! Let’s do it again!”