Life in the country continues. I am surrounded by Hunting Dogs. At least I presume they are hunting dogs, I mean, what do dogs do? They’re big, they run around off the leash, and they live on a big farm of sorts.

Most days, they languish in the sun. But when they see me, they come running.

The other professionals kind of shy away from them. After all, muddy paws on your shoulders and dog breath in your face is an acquired taste.

When they learned that I could give them a vigorous back rub, they returned again and again. Today, one gave me the ultimate compliment and out of a group of about 40 converging on the property, he flipped over on his back right in front of me.

How could I say no?

There, in the middle of our morning briefing, everyone in field jackets, hats, waders and clipboards, I gave him a belly rub and tickled his underarms.

Puppy love.

For mapping purposes later in the day, the surveyors worked with the drone pros who took aerial images; the dogs slept through it all. By afternoon, they had romped longer than my two Scotties romp for most of the year. Over they went, laying down on their sides, activity happening all around, yet they were oblivious to it all.

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” came to mind.

Here were peaceful pups, warming their bodies on a warm spring day. They sensed they were among friends, resulting in perfect peace and contentment. They knew at the first sniff that I was Misha and Grisha’s Doggy-Mama, a Kindred Soul with whom they could relax.

Doggy pals: they understand how to relax and be themselves among trusted friends. Ahh….

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