This morning Cabela pranced around the yard. Perhaps she was inviting her sister, Ziva, to play. Perhaps she was inviting me to throw a ball. The midsummer morning felt like a beautiful autumn day—cool, breezy, and invigorating, but warm enough to avoid an extra layer of clothes. At fourteen years old, Cabela is headed into her winter, but this morning she was a lovely autumn day, enjoying a frolic before her winter arrives. Something in the cool, breezy weather tapped into her memory of younger days. I wonder how many frolics she has left.
Ziva didn’t want to play, and it’s too risky for Cabela to play fetch. If she didn’t have four legs, she would need a walker, so I took them for a stroll. Cabela meandered from one blade of grass to another. A couple of years ago, she stopped strutting in front of me on our walks and looking over her shoulder as if to ask, “What’s taking you so long?” Now she dawdles behind me and moves when she’s good and ready as if to say, “What’s your hurry?”
I’m headed into the autumn of my years. The cool, breezy weather made me feel like prancing too, so I wore my blue jeans with holes in the knees. Perhaps at sixty-three, I shouldn’t because young people wear ripped jeans. But I feel like a summer day from my youth when I wear them. Since my twenties I’ve always had a pair of jeans with torn knees. I’ve never bought them that way. My jeans had to earn their holes by hanging in there with me day after day, year after year.
I hope Cabela walks with me through another winter and into another fall. I hope, if I need to live in a nursing home one day, I’ll have a pair of holey jeans to take with me.
Writing Near the Lake 
From winter dogs to blown-out-knee jeans=serendipity. Another window on how you think.
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That’s why dogs are man’s best friend. They are like us in so many ways 💕💕. I like the idea of jeans earning their holes 😂. For me, I usually cut mine into shorts when I’m tired of wearing them. Sweet post💕💕.
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You’ve earned the holes. Keep them.
As for the furballs, thirteen is a good long time. You must be doing something right. But I know. Regardless of whether it’s thirteen or a hundred and thirteen, it’s never long enough. Hoping you have many cool mornings and sunny afternoons together.
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Cute knees! I’m impressed by your jeans, they are a story themselves–hmmm. And our dogs, they expand our world!
When my dad was eighty, his 3rd Weimaraner, always named Char, died. By his next birthday he was looking for a puppy and living in an RV year-around (building Habitat for Humanity Homes). Char #4 is now a full-grown companion. She takes up plenty of space in his living quarters and his life. When dad comes to visit, Char refuses to play with Daisy–playing with other dogs is beneath her, I guess. Daisy doesn’t take it personally and has reminded me that I don’t need to either. I let more things roll off my shoulders. We all should. I’m thankful for Daisy and also that my dad has Char even though she doesn’t think she’s a dog. Dad’s 85 now and still slinging a hammer on the rooftops! Char would join if she could,
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You’re dad has the right attitude–just keep doing the things he loves!
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