Smokey Mountain Breakdown

...every fall. When I look at the trees and I realize, this is it. This is the day when the color has peaked. From here on out is will be the slow falling death of brightness onto the ground. The color will fade like blood drying after a very long while. And it won't come back no matter how much water you add. Today was that day.

I drove into town with the Fat Buddy for his follow-up. Perhaps it was that it was overcast, but the saturation was such on the leaves that I was reminded why so many people come here to see them. We are one of the southernmost places where you can go to see a real autumn.

Fat Buddy is doing well. The vet was pleased with his progress. We'll keep him on another week of antibiotics to be on the safe side.

I mention to her that I was pretty sure that Old Man had a heart attack. Old Man tries to bite her every time he comes in. So he has to wear a muzzle.

She stops suddenly and asks me, "Did he die?!"

"Oh, no...I was sort of sure he was going to, but he seems fine now. He climbed the stairs last night so he could sleep in the bedroom."

Old Man is the Fred Sanford of cocker spaniels. He threatens to die with such frequency that its gotten to be a joke.

"But, you know," she says, "you are going to call me boo-hooing about it when he does die and you are going to miss him just like the rest."

"I know," I say, "But even the flies think he's dead. They keep blowing him."

But, at least Fat Buddy has nice sweet breath now. Which is a good thing since he loves getting all kissy with you. He was starting to think I was seeing another dog.