The sound of car keys has always meant something different from house keys – one opens doors, the other opens worlds.

This morning the keys sang their particular song and Gus appeared from nowhere, already stretching. I lifted myself from the sun patch with considerable dignity, though my tail may have betrayed a certain enthusiasm. The phrase built in stages: “yous guys wants to gos fors a cars rides to Good Dogs Parks!” — each word a small doorbell announcing joy.

In the mud room we sorted ourselves with the practiced efficiency of a morning ritual that predates memory. Gus stationed himself by the garage door. I took position near the leash hooks, though we both know where we’re going requires no such formalities. The Deschutes waits with its ancient patience. The tennis ball waits in the back seat.

Some Saturdays arrive with their sleeves already rolled up.

#pawscarwilde #gooddogpark