I was out with the dog in shirtsleeves just a few days ago. Now he looks at me with a pathetic mixture of loathing and remorse when I try to coax him into the kennel in the back of the truck. He tries to squeeze into the cab as I throw my gun and vest in, and learns that “denial” ain’t just a river in Egypt.
“Buck up kid, you’ll be lying on a fluffy bed next to the stove again as soon as you find me a couple birds.”
His head cocks at the word, “birds.”
He jumps into the back and curls up in the kennel. He’s not exactly happy about it, but he’s at least realized this temporary suffering has a purpose.
Good thing for all of us to keep in touch with, I guess.