Scout’s tail never stops moving. In full “love the one you’re with” Labrador enthusiasm, his otter tail is always thwacking his excitement.
I grew up in a Southern California desert canyon <cue ominous Wild West whistling> fueled by the fire of 1,000 suns.
It is a death valley of its own kind for lizards and lawns alike. My parents’ house has plant potters housing baby palm trees. Lizards scale the basket – lured by the mirage of water amid the cool 95-degree autumn afternoons. Cacti stand in mocking triumph over the fallen. Continue reading