Little Dog is a sand machine. She plows through it like she’s a trackscavator, whereas the Big Guy and I are much slower, plodding in the soft sand, like we are walking on the moon. Little Dog also likes to eat the sand, which I don’t approve of, but since when did she care what I approved of. She likes to wait until my back is turned and take a bite of some clump.
Curious note: My spell checker is flagging “trackscavator.” Perhaps that is simply a Southern term, like “y’all,” and does not really exist in the official English language, or the King’s English. I guess Prince William will not be saying “trackscavator” at his nuptials then. Too bad. Useful word.