Animal with Home Value

 A Thanksgiving weekend of family meals, long walks, and reaching 86 books this year Bryan and I headed out for a walk after he returned from his sister’s Thanksgiving gathering, settling into a steady 30‑minute pace that carried us just under 2 km. The air was crisp with a light breeze, the kind of weather that makes movement feel effortless. I’ve always loved these cooler temperatures—my body doesn’t have to work as hard, and the transition from “easy mode” into a gentle warm‑up felt natural. Carrying 30 pounds with me added that extra layer of challenge, but it blended seamlessly into the rhythm of the walk. We paused at a park bench along the way, taking a moment to sit together before snapping a photo. That small break reminded me how these walks are as much about connection as they are about distance or weight carried. The combination of fresh air, conversation, and the grounding presence of the season made the outing feel restorative. It wasn’t just a walk—it was a reminder...

 The mental tug-of-war and the ritual of writing motivation into motion. Lines Before Laces Some mornings, motivation doesn’t come with the sunrise—it arrives in fragments. Today was one of those days. I sat down more times than I stood up, each attempt to lace my shoes interrupted by the gravity of comfort and the weight of hesitation. It took writing lines in a Word document—simple, stubborn affirmations—to coax myself into motion. Not poetic, not profound. Just necessary. Dixie and I finally made it out for a short run. My legs protested with sharp shin splints , a reminder that I hadn’t fueled properly—protein was missing, and my body knew it. I stretched mid-run, paused, breathed, and kept going. It wasn’t graceful, but it was real. And despite the discomfort, I found joy in the rhythm, in Dixie’s steady presence, and in the fact that I’d overcome the inertia. Funny how workdays make it easier. I say I’ll run, and I do. No mental tug-of-war, no negotiations with the couch. But...

  Frost , Hills, and a Chewed-Up Start October 6 greeted us with our first frost of the season—just a whisper of white across the grass, crisp enough to make the coffee taste richer and the walk feel sharper. Dixie and I took full advantage, clocking an hour through one of the few routes around here with real elevation gains. Not many places in Lethbridge or Medicine Hat offer hills worth mentioning, so when the land lifts and dips just enough to challenge the legs and lungs, it feels like a small triumph. Joe joined for the first leg, and two cups of black coffee later, the morning ritual felt complete. But nature giveth and nature gnaweth. Back at home, I discovered the mice had chewed through my windshield washer lines . The pump still hums with purpose, but only a few weak spurts make it to the glass—like a faucet with a cough. It’s a small annoyance, but one that reminds me how even the tiniest creatures can reroute our day. I’ll patch it up, of course, but part of me admire...