I stopped for a moment to try and keep the sweat from dripping completely in my eye. There it was, a perfectly round drop precariously dangling from my lashes. It’s not quite 7 am, but I’ve been out pulling weeds from my neglected flower beds. In between the sweat, humidity, unusual rain showers, and heat of a typical St. Louis summer, I’m dodging fuzzy bumble bees and dragon flies as they harvest my garden. Just as I was about to finish up, out of the corner of my eye I spied the familiar sort of side gate topped off by four white fuzzy paws and a gray beard. He is in high spirits as he loudly proclaims to the fellow hounds in the neighborhood “Where my dogs at!”
Duffy, the pooch in question, is a 14 year old miniature schnauzer with a pup’s energy and attitude. What’s so amazing about this little fellow is about 5 weeks ago he was attacked and received injuries so severe the vets were counseling me on “putting him to sleep.” Suffice it to say I said no, and in less than a week Duffy was ready to go and they were glad to be rid of him. The dogs, animals, the rumbly bumbly bumble bees I watched this morning, all living their lives doing what only they were meant to do.