There is no time quite like the time spent in a park at night. Or, for that matter, in a park at 6pm, when it’s pitch black out. I understand why they don’t bother to put lights there – after all, it’s at least 3 km of densely wooded creek-valley. Putting lights in would probably do more to attract an ‘unsavoury element’ than it would do to make me feel less like foolish little Red Riding Hood (not the psychotic version I wrote about earlier, mind you) heading along the creek and through the woods. Ms Hood would probably have been considerably safer with two dogs at her side.
Apart from the inability to see what’s happening in the woods, the disadvantage of being in the woods at night is the simple fact that you can’t really see the dogs all that well.
When Gwynn ran up beside me and started chewing at his leg, I assumed (rightly, and completely wrongly) that he had a bur on his leg. Well, he had burs, certainly. On his leg, not so much.
Like this… only this is about 20 minutes after I started taking burs off. I wasn’t mean enough to try and take his picture when all of the fur on his face was being held down over his eye by a giant mass of burs, as my pirate-like pooch wound anxiously around my legs, rubbing his face against my pants (pressing more and more fur deep into the burs), while I tried desperately to hold him still long enough to get ahold of the mass. 20 minutes sitting in the middle of the dark woods on the path, and I was finally pretty sure that he wasn’t in danger of eye damage. I waited until he could see out of both eyes to give in to my bloggy self.
Meanwhile, Sadie was jealous of all the cuddles Gwynn was getting (not a cuddle, more like a half-nelson to hold the crazy dog still while I cleared his eye), so she kept trying to squish herself between Gwynn and I. It’s really helpful to the situation as a whole – the dog I want to have close to me trying desperately to get away from the madwoman pulling at his face, the other one trying to steal all the ‘face pets’.
I got as much as I could get without actually being able to see what was there, pressed the rest of them back so that they were keeping his hair out of his eyes, rather than holding it over his eyes, and left it until home. All that rubbing his face into my legs had left enough fine strands of bur in my jeans that I was twitching and itching and scratching all the way home.