Mostly I enjoyed the sensuality of lying on the wonderful soft old quilt, reading while a 70-degree breeze swept through the room and Peter Murphy filled the air with riches. This is the time of year I like best in Northern California: that brief space of perfection in between "too hot to want to live" and "raining continually, with tulle fog making the roads hazardous".
Talus, fortunately for my sanity, has caught onto this game of "pee right away when you go outside". And he's obviously feeling better (brighter-eyed and bouncier), so we must be doing something right (antibiotics, good diet, quiet routine, you name it). He's caught on remarkably fast to the idea that if he wants my attention, the way to get it is to sit down (instead of using the jumping-up maneuver native to dogs). I thought Sable was an easy dog, but good grief. Talus makes training seem simple.
Sun going down now. Time to walk the dogs again. Since Talus has to go out three times a day, and I have to keep him and Sable apart for now, I've suddenly gone from two dog walks/day to five. That wasn't planned. At least it's temporary.
In other news, I've abruptly been moved to buy an athame. My tradition associates this tool with South and with fire; it is used to delineate boundaries. Makes me wonder what boundaries I'll need to be setting soon.