The old man had an ultrasound this morning and we celebrated the diagnosis of “old dog liver” (rather than cushings or tumor) with a little stroll along the creek in the rain and the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Not sure who was happier.
Weed-eating sheep, gathered for the night with guard dogs sleeping on the job. As seen while running.
Putting some miles in.
Joyriding in the Bitterroots.
Our window of green is short here, and you cannot take a single hillside for granted.
Rattlesnake creek, dynamic and full of spring runoff.
Evening ride on mount jumbo. Can you stand all that balsamroot?
Springtime in the valley.
And some weekends, you oblige the old dog with his version of camping: wall tents, wood stoves, and short walks.
Nose to the wind.