It's times like these when I'm glad the lawn tractor has headlights. I wanted to take a shot with the headlights on, but there's a dead man switch (like anyone would die on this tractor) that turns off the engine when there's no weight on the seat. Left to right you see the well, the lawn tractor, the yummy apple tree, and Desmond, looking for apples. The point-and-shoot camera makes the scene look much brighter than it actually was.
It was perfect. A tall drink in my hand, Nanci Griffith, Joe Ely and Joni Mitchell full-blast underneath industrial-strength ear protection as the lawn falls under these blades. The only problem? This engineerhas evolved into a random lawnmowing pattern, and it got too dark to see where the grass is uncut and which way to turn next. I may have hit a few rocks. I couldn't see them until it was too late or hear the blades on them. Next time I mow, I'll see the rocks polished white, and I'll know.
The vet thinks Desmond is older than I thought. He says 11-12 is closer to his real age. Plus, he's got cataracts and the vet thinks he can't see very well. He suggests as a test that I move some furniture around and watch him run into it. The rescue organization I adopted him from last November said he was 8 then (would be 9 now), but it makes more sense for him to be older. For goodness sake - he's hard of hearing, seeing and can't walk very well because of his hips. For a 9-year old dog that would be terrible. But for an 11-12 year old dog, he's doing OK.
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