Glorious day. Seventy-five degrees under a blue sky, but still a distinct feel of fall.
Our walks in the woods have been short and halting since May — first because of my ankle and increasingly because Robbie’s getting so old. I walk a little bit, slowly, while Ava runs ahead. Then I stop to wait for the old boy. Not to wait for him to catch up, but just to come into sight. He’s fine on the familiar old roads with their high banks of berry bramble; can’t wander off and get lost. But he’s good for only a few hundred yards and a lot of stopping to
smell pee on the roses. I wait for him just to see me and be reassured (both of us), then I move on. Eventually, though, we turn back sooner than we’d like.
Yesterday on our afternoon walk, Robbie picked up an elk bone that’s sufficiently putrescine and cadaverine to please the least refined doggie palate. He brought it home in the car (windows open, fans blasting), but Ava’s been dominating it most of the time since.
Today when Ava dropped it to get in the car, Robbie glommed onto it and said no thanks to a ride into the woods. So Ava and I went out to a favorite long-walk place and we walked and walked and walked — and at a good pace, besides.
It wasn’t anything that would impress a serious hiker, but enough to work up a nice sweaty glow and a good heart rate. Felt wonderful in the cool woods and the brilliant blue weather. It was great watching Ava dance ahead and not worry about Robbie lingering behind.
I felt guilty for being glad he wasn’t with us, though.
When we came home, I discovered an auto transport blocking the road just beyond the house. A shiny orange hot rod rode the top deck. The lower held a gaudy classic motorcycle and a dignified yet sporty steel gray Volvo. Vintage stuff. (Don’t think clunky, boxy Volvo. Think two-seater sports car.)
I walked over to enjoy something you don’t see around here every day, and now I know what my silent neighbor’s been working on in his garage so many late nights. That restored Volvo is on its way from the PNW boonies to a new home someplace in Europe.
“I could see myself driving a car like that,” I told the silent neighbor’s mother.
“Well, he has another one he’s about to start on …”
“Yeah, but I can’t see myself paying for a car like that. Not the type that gets sold to Europe, thank you.”
Sure was beautiful, though. I loved that subdued steely gray on the sporty design. Aside from the Avanti, the Mercedes 450SL Roadster and maybe the Delorean DMC-12 (even the non-time-machine models), I don’t think I’ve seen any vehicle so elegant and so spicy at the same time.