It’s possible that my neighbors just saw me go all Pete Rose on Cedar. There was no betting involved, and no umpire-shoving, but… I called Cedar, she looked at me and walked the other direction. I tried running away and excitedly beckoning her. She ignored me. I told her to sit. She considered for a second, and sauntered on. I stepped towards her. She backed away. And so, I went Pete Rose airborne, grabbed her by the scruff, and then (all pride gone now, I’ll switch sports), I tucked her under my arm like a football and brought her straight inside.

A photo not included in The Monks of New Skete’s _The Art of Raising a Puppy_.

We recovered (somewhat) with the 25′ leash, which I can use to reel her in like a late July humpy, a tiny bit of fight left in her, but at least, when she’s not tripping all over the leash, some resignation.

Here’s the difference between me and Pete at this moment: I’m not betting on our team.

There’s always tomorrow, I guess.

  • The day started well enough, with a meet and greet with neighbors.
  • What a view.
  • I’ve been getting plenty of this side-eye lately.
  • Cedar doing her own Pete Rose routine.
  • Sitting and listening: Ravenspeak.
  • Snow line is coming down quickly.