The Growler

I would probably be remiss if I didn’t mention Abbie at least once.

Abbie is old now and most likely deaf. Her once energetic little body is knobby and trembles slightly whenever she walks. She runs into the wall and when she looks at me through cloudy eyes I see her as a crazy old lady with white hair who smacks her toothless gums while pointing her finger at me like she’s got something to be angry about.

Abbie is my dog, and I know it’s silly to be sentimental about animals, but I am, because I came home and suddenly she’s so old and senile. The vet thinks she had a stroke, and I wonder if an abrupt lesson in mortality is on its way.

Abbie likes to sit on my mom’s shoes and growl at anyone who comes near. She likes to rip open my presents when it’s my birthday. This morning when I took the 15-year-old on a walk she decided to have her morning constitution in the middle of the street, which the garbage truck promptly ran over. Oops.

Abbie, wearing her torn-up bed as a protective shell. It's normal.

Anyways here’s to the sometimes annoying canine whom I wheeled and dealed so hard for when I was eight. She growled at me when we went to go pick her up as a puppy. But I think we’ve gotten over that by now.

Nature is neat.

Spending time in the great outdoors makes me happy.

Take this for example:

That expression may look like a grimace, but I think that’s actually the face I make when I can’t floss because I’ve been camping. Really, I couldn’t be happier to be right next to this delicately (pun appreciated) fractured, eroded, and weathered Entrada Sandstone!

I just realized I’ve been to N.I.N.E. different national parks in the last two years.

Two things are common in park culture:

1. There are more Europeans than Americans.

2. Europeans carry walking sticks.

I’d like to comment on the latter first.

Dear Europe,

Walking sticks, really? You’re not even carrying a backpack, Moses. And you’re on a trail.

Love, non-sedentary Americans.

But here are my more important thoughts on the first:

Hello Americans, go explore your country! It’s so great! Eurotrash is outnumbering us on the trails of ours truly. When the Sierra and I went to the Grand Canyon last year, all of our friends back in Provo said they’d never been. But I think half of France has. I’m pretty good at math, so you can trust me that Provo is indeed closer to the Grand Canyon than France. What’s going on here, dear people? Just because it’s close, doesn’t mean it’s not cool…

And since nature’s cool … I think we could save it too. So while you’re here click on this cool link about clean energy! Being a tree hugger isn’t synonymous with crazy-socialist-PETA either, so don’t be afraid to say it.

Yep, here it is: my one true love that’s not going anywhere, at least for a few million years.