Tales of the Cougar, Part I

We’ve been visiting the Jackson Middle School daily since the pandemic. It’s got acres of wide open space that allows Blossie to aimlessly run like the wind. And I get to move my body….a rare commodity in these lockdown times of no gym workouts and closed ice skating rinks.

I’m not the only dog person taking advantage of this mecca of freedom and fresh air. As we trudge through the fields of tall grass waving like stalks of wheat and make our way to the upper level, there are a number of dog-human partnerships in the distance. I wave, mumbling to myself “What are their names again?” Some are leashed and walking, others play ball, one tossing, one running like the wind to fetch. 

Blossie, unleashed and free, decodes scents with her expert schnoz, lost in her own dog-tracking universe. It’s only a matter of moments till the dogs discover each other. I continue, intent on getting enough exercise to work off the extra bagel and cream cheese I had this morning. 

Nose raised in “smell the wind” pose, Blossie spots the black lab chasing balls. She takes off with a “later mom,” not even pausing to ask permission with a quick raising of her eyebrows. She’s down the field in a flash. I make my way in her direction carefully and slowly. There must be a thousand moles living here because I’ve almost twisted my ankle stepping into holes hidden by tall grasses covering the entire soccer field. 

Blossie has already started her fun and games with the lab, and I make my way over to his person, keeping a respectful social distance. Blossie is in downward dog, beckoning with her wagging butt, daring her buddy to grab his ball away from her. He makes his way over, and Blossie darts away, ears flapping, as the words “chase me” echo in the wind behind her. I reach the lab’s person and we  remind each other of our dogs’ names, he’s Barkley.“How old is he again?” “A year and a half.”

I should have known he was a youngster. Blossie, who’s seven, is a cougar, “I can’t help it, I love younger men, Mommy.” Most of the dogs she knows from our neighborhood and dog parks are male and at least half her age or more, Kobe, 1-1/2, Ace, 2, Hank, 3 (and that’s just a smidgen of her harem!) “They’re the only ones who can keep up with me” she over shares  with her mother, who would rather not know details (you know what I mean, mothers of daughters!)  And, at the same time, I understand. Cause the truth is, I love younger men too.  Though I don’t run like the wind with my ears flapping or play downward dog keep-away, I do play hard and dance up a storm and, like Blossie, most men my age can’t keep up with me either. Like mother like daughter.