Hunter doesn't do the dog paddle.
He prefers to sit in water.
On the thirty acre kingdom that he believes he rules, there is, The Pond.
The Pond, is out the back door and it is pretty darn mucky, all summer long.
There is also, The Neighbors' Pond.
The Neighbors' Pond, is down and off to the right of the field on this side of the road. It is even more mucky than the mucky pond out the back door.
Stankier than shit.
Needle Way, can be found in a pine tree portion of what his majesty believes are his woods.
Needle Way, has sprung up like black gold over a path that at one time was a favorite place to walk, as it was covered in a carpet of spongy moss. Evolution which does not take millions of years, since we have only been here thirty, has kept the green carpet under water for the last few summers. Thousands upon trillions of pine needles in every stage of disintegration float and then sink into the once popular spot, giving it a unique undesirable quality all its own.
This Texas tea place, is now the go to destination for vacationing mosquitos who do not practice social distancing.
I ran into a new hatch just last week and found that even with a cup of coffee I can still run.
But not fast enough.
Golf Course Lake, is over there in the sand dunes, between the field and the flag pole that my husband set up for his driving range when he was young and a hotter than shit, stud.
While my Sweet Sven morphed into a handsome old geezer, the sand dunes changed as well, giving way to new arid-types of foliage and a puddle which changes drastically in size according to the rainfall.
Sometimes it disappears altogether.
Lastly there is, The Pretty Pond.
The Pretty Pond, is found smack in the middle of the woods.
To get to The Pretty Pond, you want to follow the high path along the fence line in order to avoid Needle Way. When the high path curves back down into the woods, The Pretty Pond, which has varying stages of beauty, comes into view.
Sometimes it is pretty ugly.
But when it is pretty.
It is pretty.
Each morning I take a walk with Hunter and Tuna and my coffee.
We always stop at, The Pretty Pond, for Hunter to sit for a spell, for Tuna to take a rest and for me to enjoy my brew.
Most afternoons we return to The Pretty Pond.
Because by the afternoon Hunter has typically visited some of his other favorite sitting holes.
And he is no longer welcome inside.
The Pretty Pond, rinses the shit right off him.
Of course it is not perfect.
Soggy leaves hanging from his tail fly off when he shakes to dry.
He still stinks.
But it's not like having to start out with his ass plunked in the Neighbors' Pond.
Or God forbid.
Where we are all sitting.
At least it brings him to a point where he can be cleaned up enough to come into the house.
Just some shampoo, four sprinkling cans of warm water, a couple of his personal monogrammed towels and he's back in front of his fan.
We could all use a spell in a pretty pond.
We need a starting point.