So I bumped into an architect on one of my walks with Lily who said the town I have moved to is about 98% built out. Lily has found the 2%, which likely will be claimed by some developer someday. But for now there are no power lines, utility feeders or any other encumbrances except a few surveyors posts with those little pink or orange flags on them. These trails are idyllic places where I can take Lily’s leash off and let her run or explore to her heart’s content. She found one where we used to live, too, with such red clay that in the dry heat of summer it became impenetrable dust that no detergent has been invented to remove it from clothing.
But for now it is a white sandy trail cut through by someone’s thoughtful ATV riding behind some developments. And unless they are riding Lily goes happily along sniffing each small tree and blade of grass.
If they are riding we avoid the trails. Lily does not care for these motor vehicles. Maybe it’s the noise they make. In fact, she “attacks” them if we are riding in the car and she sees one. She begins with a high-pitched yelping that becomes deeper and more meaningful as it approaches, culminating in a salivating snarl-bark as it passes by. Sometimes they honk back in salute to her bravery or annoyance.
This is a mission for Lily. She sits on alert in the back seat, sometimes stepping her front legs on the console between the front seats where she can search them out in earnest. Should one appear the frenzied barking starts as she leaps into the back seat to gain purchase at the window, screaming her barks in my right ear. The ringing generally overtakes the barking. Eventually it subsides, about the same time the offending vehicle has passed us and the barking stops.
Then the cycle begins again. Soon it will be too warm to bring Lily along for rides, only when we drive to her parks for her walks or runs.
It is what she lives for.