The grass is cold under my ribs and exactly the right temperature for a dog who just spent an hour chasing tennis balls at Good Dog Park.

The car ride back had that particular Sunday morning quiet — no urgency, windows cracked just enough to let the ponderosa smell mix with river air still caught in my ears. Gus rode shotgun as usual, muzzle pressed to the glass, while I monitored the backseat for any signs we might turn around and do it all again.

Now the front lawn holds me like it was designed for this exact moment. The sun finds the spaces between the junipers and warms my back in patches. My legs are tired in the way that means I used them properly. There’s still Good Dog Park dust between my toes.

A neighbor walks by and waves. I lift my head once in acknowledgment, then let it drop back to the grass. Sunday morning accomplished.

#pawscarwilde

#gooddogpark