I'm often dreaming of flying. I find myself running through the yard over the rough pavers. Then, just before I've reached the side garden path where the honey bear roses creep on a trellis, something magical happens. My front paws don't hit the wet grass. Instead, my back paws push off the ground with one sudden burst and my tail sweeps over the top of the lemon tree just as I soar for the stars.
Oh yes, it would be nice to fly.
Until then, I'll watch the finches, doves, and crows and enjoy the ground under my paws.
Bark at you later,
PJ the dog blogging dog :-)
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