How cool is this? Fred Flintston's foot. This is on the trail that goes beyond the bog boardwalk, up to the top of the bluffs at the end of the lake.
This is the trail that Tess loves to walk with strangers. I get phone calls from people, asking if Tess made it home OK. Pretty much everyone tells me what a nice dog she is, and how she stayed with them the whole way. I try to clip her wings by hooking her to a cable at home, but if I don't get to it before the first bog visitors, she's off like a shot. Not even the promise of a milk bone will bring her back. She looks over her shoulder to let me know she doesn't care what I want, then off she goes, barrelling down the driveway. She takes off when she hears a car door slam; I don't always hear it but she sure does.
When I drive back from camp, Tess always looks up the road to the bog parking lot. "Hah! No one in the bog," is what I like to say, but she perks right up if there are cars in the bog lot.
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