Prancing at the Park
This morning we walked to Starbucks with Beary in tow. He did pretty well, stopping to Ã¢â‚¬Å“waterÃ¢â‚¬Â several plants along the way and sniffing every leaf, pole and paper that crossed his path. Two people at Starbucks said Ã¢â‚¬Å“cute dog,Ã¢â‚¬Â which Mike and I gush and said thanks as if we had something to do with his cuteness. After we fill up on coffee (me) and a caramel macchiato (Mike), we stop at BearyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s favorite trot spot, a park with grassy terrain the size of a football field. We throw off our sweatshirts and run the length of the park with Beary right at our heals. IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m amazed at BearyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s speed Ã¢â‚¬â€œ he could certainly take on Steve Prefontaine any day.
Inspired by the jungle gym, I run to the monkey bars and realize IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m too tall. Beary follows behind dirtying his freshly-washed fur. Mike plops Bear on my lap and we glide down the slide. Beary seems indifferent about this new adventure, certainly not chomping to do it again. After a few more jogs around the park, we head back home. Beary meets an 8-year-old toy poodle who is almost as cute as him. They sniff, prance, dance and then we part ways. Now weÃ¢â‚¬â„¢re back at home and Beary is tired, sun bathing by the back door. Ahh, I love Saturdays.