It's a dog's life, sleeping, eating and going walking. Cheyenne never had it this good in a past life before she was unceremoniously dumped at the SPCA on Stock Island.
The Wharf Restaurant on Summerland Key seems to be doing a land sale business even as winter tourism drops off. There are always lots of cars in their lot. http://conchscooter.blogspot.com/2009/11/summerland-wharf.html 
Cheyenne took her ease for a while watching traffic on Highway One. I read the newspaper as she shade bathed. She is a funny dog because going for a walk is her way of injecting some interest into her day. It does not necessarily mean actually moving during the hottest part of the day during the hottest part of the year. 
In the morning when I get home and the sun has yet to come up she is quite frisky and this time of year gets longer walks, no matter how tired I am. However when lunch time comes and goes she is programmed to want a walk so off we go. And then she sits after a short stroll in the heat.
And when we get home she flops, panting, on the bamboo floor slowly subsiding into a rip snorting, snoring sleep.
On the ride home i stopped on the bridge and took a rather poor shot of distant lobster pots doing their job in a strong tide. All that hammering and painting and tying floats to drop the whole mess in the water and hope a lobster walks in and eats the decaying chicken bait inside. What a strange way to earn a living.
The Wharf Restaurant on Summerland Key seems to be doing a land sale business even as winter tourism drops off. There are always lots of cars in their lot. http://conchscooter.blogspot.com/2009/11/summerland-wharf.html 
Cheyenne took her ease for a while watching traffic on Highway One. I read the newspaper as she shade bathed. She is a funny dog because going for a walk is her way of injecting some interest into her day. It does not necessarily mean actually moving during the hottest part of the day during the hottest part of the year. 
In the morning when I get home and the sun has yet to come up she is quite frisky and this time of year gets longer walks, no matter how tired I am. However when lunch time comes and goes she is programmed to want a walk so off we go. And then she sits after a short stroll in the heat.
And when we get home she flops, panting, on the bamboo floor slowly subsiding into a rip snorting, snoring sleep.
On the ride home i stopped on the bridge and took a rather poor shot of distant lobster pots doing their job in a strong tide. All that hammering and painting and tying floats to drop the whole mess in the water and hope a lobster walks in and eats the decaying chicken bait inside. What a strange way to earn a living.
2 comments:
Dear Flash:
I have a lobster pot in the kitchen... All it needs is a couple of lobsters.
Fondest Regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
Lobster season is over till August.
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