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Cowboy Boots
And autumnal euphoria
Yesterday I spent the better part of the day playing with my two beloved granddaughters (ages 6 and 9). They have an annoying little wiener dog who insists on playing with us.
The two girls are as different as night and day. The older one is an intellectual bookworm who likes stories and music and art and science. Like so many girls, the younger one just wants to have fun. And she is never happier than when out of doors.
Plus she owns a pair of cowboy boots.
Every few hours we would let the dog out the front door to run around and do his business. Every time the younger girl would be right behind the dog. She would very quickly slip into her cowboy boots and go out to run around. Seriously, she is like a doggie who needs to be let outside every few hours. She just can’t take being indoors for too long.
I have never worn nor owned cowboys in my entire life. As a kid growing up in Texas I saw other kids wearing cowboy boots and I thought, Oh my god! Those boots are pointed! My feet aren’t pointed. There’s no way they could possibly be comfortable. (I was a very, very bad Texan.)
At one point in the afternoon all of us went outside to play ball. (The dog, who is deathly afraid of balls for some reason, kept running away from all the action.) The youngest girl…
