Camping, with Dogs

Molly says "hi."

Meet the Blueberry.

Highway cleanup near Pilot exit. When we started that morning it was a brisk 17 degrees.

Campground at Slate Creek.

Molly naps.

Bandit, Tuffy, and Duchess seek shade.

Slate Creek Campground.

The Green River, with our little home-away-from-home in the cottonwoods.

Blue Forest.

Ant hill.

It occurs to me that this post is heavy on the Molly. She's got to be the best-tempered dog in the world, despite having had several tumors removed from the same location on her right front leg, which the vet now thinks it might be a good idea to take off. She's an older dog, 13 (I think? I'm horrible about the years), but we'd like to keep her around longer, especially since she's otherwise healthy, and most dogs adjust pretty well to having only three legs. It's sad with any dog, but this one in particular is just a good, good dog. Unlike the next one, who is hyperactive, needy, obsessive and dense:

Bear, being patient (the stick is just outside the frame). But he's got a big heart, and he's fun, and he can take a lot of playful abuse from the boy he loves.

Our shadow on the causeway.

Bluffs near Names Hill.