She and I do the morning walk. I do my business--you know what I mean. We are pleased to get that stuff done and now I can sit under the red maple tree in front of the house. I am not much for the back yard. So dull, no people, no doggie pals. Nothing to hold one's interest. I spend all summer under my tree, watching the world go by.
On this summer morning, I hear scuffling on the roof. I look up and see a fat smug black squirrel with bright eyes and an impressive tail. He leaps over onto my tree and chatters down at me. I ignore him. When it comes to squirrels, I give up. I call this maturity. In the past I would chase squirrels. But they run away. I guess that they don't want my friendship.
The tree is my friend. She also likes the tree and sits in a chair reading, all the summer long.Neighbours pass by and discuss the history of the tree. It replaces a birch tree that succumbs to an ice storm many years ago. At first, she didn't take to the red maple. It is a newcomer, but when it is small, she can grow flowers that love the sunshine. As it grows, it provides shade so she has to rethink her gardening. This summer, things work out. Geraniums turn black but revive as fall approaches. Brilliant reds and pinks. In fact, spectacular. She is happy about that. Especially as they make a great background for moi. I am black and white- -what a photograph. One for the album!
The tree starts to shed leaves. Soon I will be an indoor dog with no outside company. I will miss the man who calls me Tiger and asks me if I am protecting the property. He is joking. I weigh thirteen pounds. But I wag my tail anyway. I do love humans like the mailman who thanks me for not biting him. I will miss the conversations. One lady has a white dog called Maggie. An indoor dog. If one leaf lands on her, her mistress flicks it off. Although the lady is interesting. She is into American politics and is convinced that Obama will be a one-term president. She gets worked up like you wouldn't believe. Humans and their problems.
I am content under my tree. I have a pal next door, one of my breed.We tussle a bit. Get our leads tangled. She moans that soon she will be raking leaves. Where will I be without my tree? I am not much for TV or getting salt on my paws. Too much of that when the snow falls. The tree will stand dark and bare, its icy branches tapping on the bedroom window. I'll look wistfuly up at the tree and long for another glorious summer.
