Saturday was another in a string of perfectly balmy days. I know, I know, I KNOW that winter isn’t over, that a great arctic blast is coming to stomp heartlessly upon my crocuses, but aaahhhhh.
Oh, it is nice. For now. I may occasionally glance over my shoulder, anxiety flitting across my face, like the shot in the movie that tells you NO, PERHAPS THE KILLER ISN’T DEAD, but when I’m not doing that I’m blissful.
Since Saturday was so perfect and warm and gorgeous, we decided it was time to go on a bike ride. Clay loaded the bikes in the back of the truck, people piled in the cab, and we set off amidst the happy cries of “HE’S TOUCHING ME!” and “I SAID STOP LICKING ME!” for the bike trail.
This particular trail runs through a dog park, a glorious place for those of us who appreciate the goofy love of dogs. At the center of the dog park is a stream, which pools below a large cottonwood tree that the boys love to climb.
It wasn’t long after we started that I realized I’d forgotten Max’s inhaler (picture me now beating myself in the forehead and chanting, “stupid, stupid!” ala the late Chris Farley), and he started wheezing not long after we started. Tre would not be held back, and Clay had Raphael on the hiker bike behind him, so he was driven on by the gusts of words. I hung back with Max. We stopped so he could catch his breath, we meandered, we even walked our bikes a while.
We watched the dogs milling about. There were dozens of dogs, from great danes down to tiny wee min pins. I can’t help it, the weenie little dogs make me laugh. I’m sorry, I really am, if you have a tiny appetizer of a dog – I’m sure your dog is very precious to you. It’s just…funny.
We noticed a dog that looked JUST LIKE my brother Josh’s dog, Pete. Pete died right before Christmas. We got to see him at Thanksgiving and he was a walking fur skeleton then, so it was no surprise. This dog looked like Pete in his prime, bounding around, being called back by his owners, forgetting where he was going on his way to them, and bounding off again.
“Tucker! TUCKER!” He belonged to a couple, a man (who, oddly enough, strongly resembled my brother) and a very pregnant woman. As they ambled up next to us, I started chatting with them.
“Do you have a dog here?” the woman asked.
“No, our dog is home. She’s impossible with bikes.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
I found this a leetle odd, and looked around to see if she was trying to make conversation with Max. But he was gazing off in the distance, blissed out on all the dogs.
“I THOUGHT it was you!”
As it turns out, it was Christine, who used to work with my dad. I’d met her a few times, but here’s the best part:
She turned to her husband, Dan, and said – I quote,
“She has the blog I’m always telling you about.”
Or maybe it was,
“She has that one blog.”
Hmm. It might have been,
“She fancies herself some sort of blogger.”
No, no I’m sure she said something to the effect that she reads this lil’ ol’ blog regularly.
Clay circled back and I introduced everyone, and even repeated to him that SHE READS MY BLOG. I am nearly shameless. Nearly, because I at least had the grace to whisper that part. She nodded in agreement, and then said – I quote,
“I love it.”
She drew a little heart on her chest.
Swoon. I felt almost as cool as Y.
And so I just wanted to mention here that she’s my favorite person ever, and the most gorgeous pregnant lady there ever was, and even though he hasn’t been born yet, I can tell that her son is very very gifted. Seriously. Have you had him tested?
Eventually I dragged myself away from her insightful, witty commentary, and we went on with our bike ride.
The sun was golden, the dogs were plentiful and joyfully stupid, Max breathed easier, and life…it was good.