I winded down the Lewis and Clark River Road enroute to the dog sanctuary and another gimpy romp with Bonnie and Clyde. On the radio, a sports talk moron said that Miami has the best beaches in the country. They’ve got steak houses and discos right at the ocean’s edge!
My car was loaded with five boxes of items for the upcoming August rummage sale to benefit the Angels for Sara Sanctuary. I had gathered the donations from various friends and family members and planned to round up another five boxes. All I want to do is serve—what I’ve done my whole professional life. Now, dogs only. That might be forever.
I pulled into the gravel parking lot and saw Bonnie and Clyde at the gate, howling and dancing around.
We hit the pasture and the two old bank robbers didn’t have their usual gumption. I slowed us down, enticed them with treats, and we finally made it to the river. They went into the water. I sat down on the bank and started composing a haiku about old dogs in a river, counting syllables on my fingers. I waited and the current didn’t seem to go anywhere. The slack of summer low flow. I feel it inside me. I want more flow, into a new watershed of life.
The haiku wasn’t materializing so I stopped trying.
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