Two White Poodles Again

Just as I was getting to the Viewpoint today, around dusk, I heard someone calling me name. I looked all around, and then realized it was a crow cawing. Sometimes they sound so human. Then I saw a woman I've spoken with at the Viewpoint before--the owner of two white poodles. One is five months old, and the other seven years old. I think I got this a little wrong the last time I wrote about them. They're the big, energetic kind of poodle, not lap dogs. Their heads are round, and they have no topnots or anything like that.

I kept trying to capture the beautiful dusky blues around the bay, and beyond, but my camera wasn't cooperating very well with me. But I'll remember how they looked. What a beautiful painting this would make!

Two Black Poodles

Although the sun showed itself any number of times today, it was basically an overcast day--and also a windy one. For a while it was sunny at the Viewpoint at the same time that it was overcast down on the bay. A woman came along with two black poodles. I asked how old they were. Although they looked just about alike to me, she replied that one was a year and a half, while the other was eight. She said that the year-and-a-half-old one was an eternal puppy. At least that's how I remember it--several hours from when she said it. It's terrible how easy it is to forget things. It would make more sense if she had said the eight-year-old was an eternal puppy. That would have made a more logical story, wouldn't it? One dog is young, while the other is old. But the old one is an eternal puppy! That has a little more poetry to it, doesn't it? And so my mind wants to remember it this way. This is just how stories get corrupted. Our memories have a tendency to go with what has a logical flow--a sort of balance--regardless of whether this was the case with whatever situation we encountered or heard about. This is why I don't put complete trust in anything I read. And that includes things I've written myself.