John and I took the dogs for a walk this evening, and while we were out, we bumped into a couple with their small son (between 2 and 3, I think). We slowed down to let him say hi to the dogs, and as I reeled Roxy in, his mother said not to worry about her, they have a big labradoodle at home. The kid said, “Yeah, I have a big waterdoodle at home,” and he walked right up to Roxy and wrapped his arms around her neck in a gentle hug. Then he planted a big kiss right on the tip of her nose and toddled off. Seriously cute. He wasn’t even a little bit afraid of a dog as tall as he was. He didn’t seem to notice Riley, who was probably closer in size to his waterdoodle.
It’s the end of the weekend. I hate that. John and I were talking this morning about how the conventional life (9-5 jobs, living for the weekends, tiny suburban house with neighbors we don’t know right on top of us) isn’t really working for us. We want something different (set our own hours, work for ourselves doing something we like, live further away from people), but what if something different doesn’t work? So we’re talking about it.