Gentle Readers,
I ask you, is there any sound more soul-stirring than that of car keys jingling? I realize that some of my canine colleagues might cite the whirr of the electric can opener, or the gentle glide of the refrigerator door hinges, but they clearly have never been in the back of my Daddy's Jeep.
As my lovely colleague Morgane can attest, it's a magical place where a dog can lay down his or her frolic-spent body for a brief shut-eye (though I, Mordred T. Dog remain ever vigilant, alert, and ready to protect my Daddy and dear Morgane at all times!), and open them again to find trees, and grass, and all manner of sniffable, chewable, roll-around-on-able things as far as a sighthound's keen eyes can see. If the chilly wind weren't ruffling my rugged, manly coat, I would swear I was dreaming (which I would, if I slept, but I don't…not deeply, at least).
But I cannot yet abandon myself to the delights of the unfettered outdoors. Morgane and I must confer and collect our thoughts on the miraculous events of yesterday – the dog show on the televsion machine, almost everyone's Mommies and Daddies being home during the light-outside hours, and the mysterious appearance of ham and turkey morsels in the food bowls of nearly every one of our acquaintances. The theory at the park was that perhaps it was some sort of national dog appreciation day being celebrated, but we'll get to the bottom of this, or my name isn't Mordred T. Dog – Irish Wolfhound At Large (though sometimes my Daddy calls me "Lumpy.")
M.T.D.
