My lionhearted aide, Ivy insists.
Seriously, she’s killing me.
We’re in the early piglet making season so feral hogs are all hormoned up and careless. We’re seeing way too many for comfort.
I’m always toting my trusty weapon, in case. Ivy does not carry anything but her countenance and a big mouth.
I have long legs. I have to step bigger. Ivy is small. She flits allover the leaf litter like a dragonfly.
It’s been muddy. Can’t wear Crocs or walking shoes. Has to be rubber boots. Clomp, clomp, clomp is how I go.
She’s well fed and energetic, I’m in a continuous state of hunger and starvation. So I slow down, alot. Only to hear her barking like a D.I., to speed it up!!!
We finally, finally get around to the drive-way and I swear she’d like me to run. Run!?? Are you on crack?
I may need a lift. My fervent wish is Son-of-a-wrek will come to visit one day and pick me up. He’s usually already at the house. Alas.
The dogs run. Alerting the house we’re on our way back.
A nice cold bottle of water waiting, and an invite to sit on the deck, for me? Nope.
They couldn’t care less.
Finally get in the house. Un-trap myself of my carry-ons and muddy boots and get to my bed.
Plop. I’m down.
Ivy says, “You can rest an hour”
The hell you say.
I may rest for eternity, I tell you what!
Ivy the Incorruptible!