A Shopping Shall We Go!
Yes, we most certainly shall, will and did. But not before going out for our daily ravine hike. We just made it out there yesterday morning before the day's rain set in; good timing. We try for that. Today, was a "free" day, not too much to be done around the house, hurrah! So, soon as breakfast was done, off we went to the ravine. Just a tad above freezing. So Button and Riley wore their little coats, and we wore our big coats; not yet winter-grade, but getting there. They wore their collars, we wore gloves.
In fine fettle did we set off. Crows cawing high above in the ravine. The trails just haven't been able to dry out, not after the weeks of uninterrupted rain, despite almost a full week of sunshine, before this day. So it's mucky and muddy and slippery, necessitating that one place one's feet carefully yet with alacrity. I kind of missed a few days earlier and my boot felt as though it had grown two inches and I slogged along lop-sided for a while.
It's kind of grey in the ravine now. Good thing we've a good share of evergreens (conifers are always green!) in there, because there's such a bare look around the deciduous trees now. Although to be sure, some of the young oaks, the beech and the hornbeam tend to hold on to their leaves. Little offshoots of the main creek are still running where normally at this time of year they'd be dry.
When we get back home after an hour of the ravine, and wash the two little dogs' feet in the laundry room sink, the water speedily becomes grey, then black, the bottom of the sink full of sand and grit. This is a daily ritual. Event though we wash their feet, the towel upon which we place them afterward becomes grimy with dirt. Better there than on the rugs, the sofa, wot?
We drive off to the thrift store, our choice today, because, just because. And besides, it's Tuesday, 20% off for seniors. And boy are we ever seniors. No kidding, right up there, three score and ten. Actually I don't believe it myself. And then I accidently see myself in a mirror. Very convincing. Button is slung over his shoulder in her bag, and Riley over mine in his smaller bag.
Wouldn't you know it, no shopping carts to be had. The staff are using them again to stock up the racks. So we trudge about the shop half-heartedly, bearing the weight of our little dears, instead of beng able to deposit them in the child seat of a shopping cart. Oh hey, there's one sitting over there, grab it! No wonder it's sitting there, it's the wonkiest of carts, and no one wants it. But it'll do, any port in a storm.
Lots of people shopping in there, fingering the wares, judging their utility. Plenty of grey-haired biddies and geezers - seniors' day, remember? Button is an instant celebrity, and everyone drops by to coo over her, pet her, stop and talk. She's patient and biddable, doesn't bark, doesn't bite, suffers the attention she doesn't seek. Not Riley, he feels he's owed attention, that singular little brat of a dog.
I eyeball sizes of garments that look as though they'll keep me nice and warm this winter, to augment my collection of nice-warm stuff to wear; always on the lookout for something different; sometimes amply rewarded. Try something on? Forget it, just forget it. Anything doesn't happen to fit, which rarely happens, it gets turned right back in; not returned.
I inherit another decrepit shopping cart and I'm set to really look around. And off we go. That's a nice cardigan, cute buttons, excellent shape, I like the colour. The label is cut off. Why do people do that? Cut off labels. It's downright uncivil. I can tell most fabrics by touch and look, but this one has me stumped; it looks like wool but could be acrylic. When I wash it much later in hot water in the washing machine, the mystery is solved: wool.
Yes, they enjoy shopping. Yes, they're well behaved. Yes, they're napping at the moment. Yes, they don't bark in the store. Yes, they are cute, aren't they? Stock responses to stock queries.
In fine fettle did we set off. Crows cawing high above in the ravine. The trails just haven't been able to dry out, not after the weeks of uninterrupted rain, despite almost a full week of sunshine, before this day. So it's mucky and muddy and slippery, necessitating that one place one's feet carefully yet with alacrity. I kind of missed a few days earlier and my boot felt as though it had grown two inches and I slogged along lop-sided for a while.
It's kind of grey in the ravine now. Good thing we've a good share of evergreens (conifers are always green!) in there, because there's such a bare look around the deciduous trees now. Although to be sure, some of the young oaks, the beech and the hornbeam tend to hold on to their leaves. Little offshoots of the main creek are still running where normally at this time of year they'd be dry.
When we get back home after an hour of the ravine, and wash the two little dogs' feet in the laundry room sink, the water speedily becomes grey, then black, the bottom of the sink full of sand and grit. This is a daily ritual. Event though we wash their feet, the towel upon which we place them afterward becomes grimy with dirt. Better there than on the rugs, the sofa, wot?
We drive off to the thrift store, our choice today, because, just because. And besides, it's Tuesday, 20% off for seniors. And boy are we ever seniors. No kidding, right up there, three score and ten. Actually I don't believe it myself. And then I accidently see myself in a mirror. Very convincing. Button is slung over his shoulder in her bag, and Riley over mine in his smaller bag.
Wouldn't you know it, no shopping carts to be had. The staff are using them again to stock up the racks. So we trudge about the shop half-heartedly, bearing the weight of our little dears, instead of beng able to deposit them in the child seat of a shopping cart. Oh hey, there's one sitting over there, grab it! No wonder it's sitting there, it's the wonkiest of carts, and no one wants it. But it'll do, any port in a storm.
Lots of people shopping in there, fingering the wares, judging their utility. Plenty of grey-haired biddies and geezers - seniors' day, remember? Button is an instant celebrity, and everyone drops by to coo over her, pet her, stop and talk. She's patient and biddable, doesn't bark, doesn't bite, suffers the attention she doesn't seek. Not Riley, he feels he's owed attention, that singular little brat of a dog.
I eyeball sizes of garments that look as though they'll keep me nice and warm this winter, to augment my collection of nice-warm stuff to wear; always on the lookout for something different; sometimes amply rewarded. Try something on? Forget it, just forget it. Anything doesn't happen to fit, which rarely happens, it gets turned right back in; not returned.
I inherit another decrepit shopping cart and I'm set to really look around. And off we go. That's a nice cardigan, cute buttons, excellent shape, I like the colour. The label is cut off. Why do people do that? Cut off labels. It's downright uncivil. I can tell most fabrics by touch and look, but this one has me stumped; it looks like wool but could be acrylic. When I wash it much later in hot water in the washing machine, the mystery is solved: wool.
Yes, they enjoy shopping. Yes, they're well behaved. Yes, they're napping at the moment. Yes, they don't bark in the store. Yes, they are cute, aren't they? Stock responses to stock queries.
posted by Pieface @ 5:17 PM
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