Seven years old today

In my memory this morning, a morning years ago. At the cabin, cup of coffee in hand, standing on the back porch, throwing the ball to Cheyenne. As the normal tireless insanity of her breed, she chased it down the hill, ran back the hill and up the stairs, dropped it at my feet and ran back down the stairs again, excitedly waiting for me to throw it again. My father stepped out onto the porch, cup of coffee in hand, and smiled at her eagerness and play.

You've got a good dog there, Alison.

Yes, yes I do.