The day promising to be perfect I thought I’d have a grand morning with Spot, so I hauled him out of bed at eight o’clock and over to the park we went to meet up with all his friends. I figured a good half an hour there then we could come back to the apartment and pick up Maria then off to Niagara on the Lake we would go. Alas, the park did not work out to be a half an hour. There was a puppy there this morning and it was like a little gnat buzzing around poor Spot. After one turn around the park and with the little pest bugging him, he’d had enough and headed out of the park and down to my daughter Carolyn’s house.
He made a nuisance of himself there for about fifteen minutes, eating about ten dog biscuits and being his saucy self. Enough of that and it was back to the apartment where we picked up Maria and headed down Lakeshore Road to Niagara.
The drive was lovely. Orchards were in bloom and the trees were ablaze with pink and white blossoms. Spot was happily standing between us, his big head resting on my right shoulder and periodically passing wind or grumbling for a cookie. I keep a jar of his cookies on the console just for such occasions..
We arrived at the park alongside the Niagara River and noted that one needed to pay for parking. I refused to do so. So, breaking the law, out of the car we got and felt revived and full of vim and vigor what with the cool breezes wafting across the river. I lugged Spot out of the car and we strolled about twenty five feet into the park. He stopped and sat. He would not move. Even for a cookie he would not move. We returned to the car, opened the back hatch. He trotted back and I hoisted him in.
Off to Simcoe Park we went and there he repeated the same performance. Loaded him in again and because he had had such a fun time at the Queenston Docks a few weeks ago I decided that would be the place he would enjoy. By then Maria was suggesting we put an end to our folly and just go home.
The river road drive as usual was most pleasant. In fact there wasn’t one rubber-necking, creeping along tourist to get my blood aboil. A perfect run indeed. I wonder does everybody who has a grape vine in Niagara call themselves a winery? Every other sign points to a winery along the road!
We swung off the River Road into the village of Queenston, passed the little stone church by the river and down the road to the docks. We parked well above the docks by a little trail leading down through the woods toward the river. Once again I took The Boy out of the back of the car and off down the trail Maria and I went. He did not. He stood and looked at us. I gave him the 'come' command and he sat down. Maria and I returned to the car; I put him back in and we drove home. He sleeps as I type.
He made a nuisance of himself there for about fifteen minutes, eating about ten dog biscuits and being his saucy self. Enough of that and it was back to the apartment where we picked up Maria and headed down Lakeshore Road to Niagara.
The drive was lovely. Orchards were in bloom and the trees were ablaze with pink and white blossoms. Spot was happily standing between us, his big head resting on my right shoulder and periodically passing wind or grumbling for a cookie. I keep a jar of his cookies on the console just for such occasions..
We arrived at the park alongside the Niagara River and noted that one needed to pay for parking. I refused to do so. So, breaking the law, out of the car we got and felt revived and full of vim and vigor what with the cool breezes wafting across the river. I lugged Spot out of the car and we strolled about twenty five feet into the park. He stopped and sat. He would not move. Even for a cookie he would not move. We returned to the car, opened the back hatch. He trotted back and I hoisted him in.
Off to Simcoe Park we went and there he repeated the same performance. Loaded him in again and because he had had such a fun time at the Queenston Docks a few weeks ago I decided that would be the place he would enjoy. By then Maria was suggesting we put an end to our folly and just go home.
The river road drive as usual was most pleasant. In fact there wasn’t one rubber-necking, creeping along tourist to get my blood aboil. A perfect run indeed. I wonder does everybody who has a grape vine in Niagara call themselves a winery? Every other sign points to a winery along the road!
We swung off the River Road into the village of Queenston, passed the little stone church by the river and down the road to the docks. We parked well above the docks by a little trail leading down through the woods toward the river. Once again I took The Boy out of the back of the car and off down the trail Maria and I went. He did not. He stood and looked at us. I gave him the 'come' command and he sat down. Maria and I returned to the car; I put him back in and we drove home. He sleeps as I type.
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