When reviewing the day, please avoid temporal references like "today," "later," and other confusing abstractions

Staying in the moment is the key to serenity across mammalian species

(Rosie turned nine on March 11 and enjoyed her spring. She’s here to give another of her intermittent reports on stuff that happens.)

Hi. As I am now nine, I am being prepared for my tenth annual wellness visit with a quadruped physician. I know this only because my food rations have been hearkening to reducing my size by a pound or two so that my roommate avoids light admonishment from the physician about tubby older dogs. After the weigh-in, I will again receive rations of cheese along with the Rachel Ray kibblechow that in theory accounts for nearly 100 percent of my nourishment.

This is the recommended expression for requesting cheese or other additives one the nightly kibblechow is already in the bowl. There is no need to speak; all that is needed is to be present in the moment.

That reminds me, dog roommates who lumber upright and declaim in long windy outbursts: When reviewing the day, please try to avoid an excessive number of references to relative or absolute time. Canine forebrains are simply not equipped to process terms like “yesterday,” “tomorrow,” and the like, and salting these into an otherwise soothing exposition can produce confusion and sometimes false hope.

Example: When you say, “We had a good run today and saw many squirrels,” all I hear is blah blah “Blah blah RUN blah blah SQUIRREL,” and I become excited about the prospect of an immediate trip outdoors in the interest of maintaining local security. And when you say “We’ll go for a ride in the car tomorrow to see Richard and the prairie dogs, if it’s not too hot,” all I hear is “Blah blah RIDE CAR RICHARD PRAIRIE DOGS blah blah,” and the effect is the same: a brief flurry of unfounded hope, followed quickly by forgetting about the whole episode and chilling contentedly on my bed. (Also, “Richard and the Prairie Dogs” sounds like a blue-grass band.)

Language is the substrate of consciousness, and without language, there is no consciousness. I can instinctively associate the sounds forming what you call “words” with certain rehearsed behaviors and scenarios, but beyond that, it is all blah, blah, and more blah. Although thinking lumberers might perceive this as a limitation, avoiding anchors to concepts like time is spiritually freeing.

By the way, if the above staring mechanism fails to produce the addition of cheese or a reasonable substitute to the kibblebowl within two minutes, this is the recommended pose for upping the ante:

But you do not come for the philosophy; you are here for the running. Well, June was a rainy and confusing month. Even at my advanced age, I am still learning that the weather that is most inviting from inside does not make for the best running conditions. I have been keeping myself at about 20 to 20 minutes per day, plus ample ambling. Last week I insisted on joining my roommate for a second run, rain notwithstanding, and racked up nearly an hour that day, some of it reportedly at “low seven-minute pace.” (Blah, blah, blah.) I paid a price for it the next morning, but thankfully I had no idea why because forebrain shortage derrrrrrrp. I love my life.

We sometimes visit areas where other runners gather just to run in circles (or perhaps ellipses) and avoid streams, wildlife, and elevation changes altogether. Woop dee do, but at least it is being outside and moving, even if the activity leaves you no wiser then previously.

On one such trip, we encountered a Pride Pony and they promptly bolted, as scared ponies will do. It is a shame, for ironically, we were only there to run as well.

(If you are wondering, yes, that pony might fit into the back of even a modestly sized motor chariot with little pneumatic manipulation.)

I have been eating a significant amount of grass, which has been growing like a weed thanks to all the rain, hail, and occasional moonlight. Sometimes I hork it up and my whole snout becomes encased with a gooey green slime layer that my running partner is forced to remove so that I do not look like a fool. Like I care; I know what it means to be free.

Finally, if two additional minutes in the above looming pose fails to elicit a dollop of human comestibles, well, by this time, you should know what to do and how to do it.

Please do enjoy your “long weekend,” assuming you have one and whatever that is.