Our Labrador retriever loves sun puddles. Ever since Carley was a pup, she has sought out the sunniest spots for her siestas. Sun puddling, we call it.
She’ll reposition herself around the house, the icehouse, the yard throughout the day to ensure that she is snoozing in the most optimal sun puddle possible. Bliss, shear bliss, if observation is any indication.
And, at moments like the golden aura’ed vignette illustrated in this post, it’s tempting to envy Carley, at least for a slow-mo moment. Sun puddling, it would seem, is at once analgesic and an end in and of itself. A transcendent state, suspended in the warm massage of a reassuring sun beam, nary a worry in the world.
And when afternoon sidles into the icehouse, butterscotch embracing the entire interior, Carley knows no finer occupation than complementing the Overland shearlings with her loving repose. And gazing upon her recalibrates more than a few timelines and deadlines for me as well. Aaahhh…
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