I love my dog. She's energetic and curious and fun and loves to explore. We go for long walks together nearly every day. We've found some lovely nooks and crannies around the neighborhood, and some mundane stretches of grass or pavement that suddenly become athletic fields or circus rings. A stick or an empty plastic bottle found on the way will cause her to explode in a sustained burst of energy, running full tilt to the end of the extendable leash, back and forth, around and around until she exhausts her cute little self. Then it's off we go again, nose to the ground, seeking the next adventure. She loves to scale steep hillsides (pulling me up after her) and is delighted by deep growths of ivy or piles of leaves, into which she dives, wallows, plunges and leaps, following the lead of her hyper-sensitive nose. Eventually, however, the time comes to head home. As soon as she realizes this, she begins misbehaving, biting her leash, playing tug-o-war with it, leaping up to nip me, and straining to change our course. But I prevail. We enter the house, dry her off and she curls up in my chair to sleep for hours.
The cats are growing accustomed to this monstrous disruption of the household they used to rule. Lucia has actually come to like, if not completely trust Grace. They play chase games around the kitchen and dining area. Lucia sometimes even rubs against Grace when things are calm. Remus pretty much resents his demotion to second class citizen. He hisses and growls and swipes at his nemesis. Grace just wants to play. Remus does not.
Do I have to change the name of this blog? For a month and a half cat juggling has been something I squeeze in between sleeping, working and dog juggling.
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