melancholy baby

For seven weeks, non-workdays had been met with steady precipitation, with scheduled refrigerator deliveries (well, just the one, really), with unavoidable obligations. In other words, despite our best intentions, the three of us have been stuck at home since the middle of April. No hikes. No natural wonders. No weary feet paired with gratified smiles. This noticeable lack of sniff-worthy escapades is a tried and true recipe for the puppy ennui. While Maisie still beamed through ordinary occurrences--a lively run in the backyard, the promise of cheese--it's fair to say watching so much of the spring pass by, uncelebrated, often painted her in a pale shade of blue. We did what we could to keep her spirits up, to see her back into the pink, knowing our nine-day vacation would soon be here, nine glorious days heaped with as many adventures as we desired.

Except, of course, that fate has a wicked sense of humor. For the first five days, it rained. A lot.

Our final days off promise ample sunshine and early summer warmth; we resolved to make the most of our remaining holiday. We started with one blue-sky Thursday, one hyper ready-to-go-go-go, and an invigorating, extended bout of high-speed hiking. (Feel free to ask Maisie why it is imperative that we "stroll" at 75mph, because her adoring-and-amused-but-very-tired moms are most certainly not privy to the reasons. But look at that face! Our baby's obvious rapture is all the reason we need to humor her, hold on tight, and try to move fast enough to maintain all our limbs.)

The boardwalk was beautiful--refreshingly breezy, uncrowded, full of its myriad seaside charms. And, while I won't relay the wonderful sights and sounds we encountered--territory well-covered in past blogs--I will say that a day at the beach, a day ambling end to end and back again over the lengthy boardwalks (albeit at insect-splatting speeds) was exactly what we needed, an adventure that culminated in weary feet, gratified smiles, and, when we arrived home, one euphoric dog too knackered to do anything but nap away the rest of the afternoon and lug her happy self to bed two hours early. (Not surprising after an hours-long mom-towing sprint that has me tempted to lightheartedly re-title this post My Life as a Windshield. We do love our girl though, completely, unconditionally...even on the rare occasion she leaves us with a sudden compulsion to squeegee our own faces.)

Today, I'm delighted to report there is no discernible melancholia plaguing our fatigued and fashionable furry one, but, as Dennie had observed on the drive into town, we find ourselves now in the company of a melon collie baby, only this one, in her stylishly juicy bandana, is made up of zero-percent collie and one-hundred percent tail-wagging, trailblazing, shepherd-beagle extraordinaire.