In an attempt to give Sparkle a little more socializing, we’ve signed her up for doggy-daycare. (Tho, writing “signed up” seems rash. In reality, there was a long waiting list, and just lately we’ve found ourselves at the top.) Once a week our pup gets to go “hang out” at a day-kennel where she can run and play in a supervised environment with all sorts of other dogs. The idea (at least for us) is to provide a little bit more of a stimulating environment so that she isn’t so timid with other dogs as we get deeper into the summer and go on more elaborate walks through the river valley. Also, I need to get her back into shape so she can come running with me. The winter’s been a cruel demon this year, and our short-haired pooch has not been so keen on long walks, even with her coat. So, yesterday was her first day, Karin dropping her off around 7:30 and picking her up at about four in the afternoon. The result: one tired puppy. She crashed on the couch, eventually finding my lap around eight or so, and nuzzling up with her head on my chest. Tired. Tired. Tired. But that’s good. No one wants to be cooped up in a house all day, everyday, especially a fleet-footed dog.