Turned off the main road well before Taos, onto a small road winding through some awfully green land. Almost swampy at times. Was that a red-winged blackbird?
Arrived at the house late morning, greeted by Turner. It was time for "his" dogs' walks: Otto, the little black heeler-chow-oid, and Zeke, the greyhound. Zeke, as it turns out, has the ear tattoos, but was probably bred to be a hunting dog — very different build.
Their path takes them through a couple meadows and down to the little river, the source of all the green. Otto, bounding off leash all around; Cheyenne, head down, found a path and had to walk on it. Zeke … I'm not entirely sure. He was balky, grudgingly agreed to go along, but I never saw as I was out in front getting pulled along by Cheyenne.
She walked a little into the river, a bit unsteady on the rock bottom, but she likes walking through water. But. So. Many. Mosquitos. We hastily returned to the house. A beautiful, two-story house, we all agreed kind of a mix of Hamptons by way of New Mexico. Didn't need to wonder long where the dogs fit in there, once we saw the giant sectional in the living room covered by sheets to accommodate them.
Passed the afternoon grilling, chatting, catching up. Slathered on the bug repellent and led Cheyenne on a mission to specifically walk in and through the river, but she didn't care for walking on the rocks. Zeke, so overwhelmed by mosquitos, just returned.
We headed home soon after, but not after having to chase Otto out of the open-for-packing-up car twice, and once when he just jumped through the window. A little tired.
