Sandy is 9 today.
It looks like the snow is finally all gone, at least here. I can look up at the hills and still see plenty of snow. I'm fine with it as long as it stays there.
Sandy loves the snow, of course. She rolls in it, she plunges through it when it's deep. Since I'm the one doing the shoveling and driving, I'm not as crazy about it. I'm happy to see the last of it.
Sandy takes the absence of snow in stride; now she rolls on the bare ground, and she had a nice dip in the dirty creek yesterday. I noticed today that one of us smells like a dog, and that means a trip to the dog groomer.
Sandy goes to the groomer because whenever she sees me with the dog shampoo and cotton balls, she goes right to her crate and tries to look really, really clean. "That stuff's not for me, right? I'm really, really clean!"
According to the groomer, Sandy walks right up the ramp into the tub and loves the dryer. Every time I hear this I'm tempted to check outside for pods. But she does come back looking great and with nails that don't click on the floor for a couple of weeks.
Is this the same squirrel that starts chattering outside on the deck at 5:30am? Or one of it's co-conspirators?
Either way, Sandy and the squirrel seem to have reached an understanding. The squirrel stations himself just out of her reach. In the event she really can reach him, she rushes up and stops just short, giving him just enough time to escape. This guy didn't know she could jump.
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