Yogi. He's such a love ball. I showed up on my brother's doorstep with my giant hound in tow (this is an oversized chair he's in). They took good care of us all week. I spent my days doing my post licensing course, and Yogi spent them at Doggytopia. Afterwards, we'd go walk the string of interconnected parks that run from behind their house through a series of little, cul-de-sac-ish neighbourhoods. I was very glad to have him with me. I think we're both craving a little constancy in our lives right now. He's going through a phase where he really doesn't want to get in the car. Ever. He takes one look when I open the door, then backs up on his leash as far as he can go, looking woeful the whole way. He used to love the car. Our final day in Kelowna, I went to pick him up after my course. The previous customer couldn't find her collar. A big search ensued, and I was standing, just short of drumming my fingers on the counter, waiting to pay and go. Finally the girl stopped and rung me in. We hopped in my car, top down, and drove away. The whole delay probably wasn't more than four minutes. We drove down Clement, where I'd just come from, and two blocks up was a gruesome scene. A vehicle lay flipped on it's roof, people standing around in horror, no emergency vehicles there yet. I asked someone if 911 had been called yet. "Yes". "Did this just happen?" I asked. "Minutes ago" he replied.
I looked at my tall dog, head sticking well out of the convertible, as was mine. I looked at the car flipped on its lid. I don't know what happened, but I was thankful that we had a three minute delay at the cash desk.
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