I went out tonight to walk the dogs, and as I was standing there, urging them to do their business, I noticed a patch of clover near my feet and was transported back to my childhood, when mom woul dstop us at any patch of clover we saw so we could search out an elusive four-leafed specimen, "for luck". I momentarily forgot the dogs and their 'business', forgot all the worries and stresses of work and of raising a small child, and just went to my own youth for a moment and, leashes in hand, began poking through the tiny plants in search of a shamrock worthy of permanent safekeeping in a favorite book, pressed between two pieces of waxed paper.
Suddenly, there it was! A big, beautiful four-leafed clover in pristine condition. As I stooped to pluck it from its stalk, I felt something tickle my foot. My exposed, flip-flop clad foot. Looking behind me to the ped in question, I was horrified to immediately recognize the greenish object snaking its way across my toes. My dear old Stormy, who is 16 1/2 years old, nearly blind and almost fully deaf, had found the perfect place to take care of things, so to speak, and unfortunately my foot got in the way of those plans.
Of course, maybe this was just his subtle way of letting me know that he's noticed I don't spend as much time with him and the boys these days, and they're a little sick of it. Either way, it made for a nauseating and uncomfortable trip back to the house.
Ah, ain't life grand?
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