First trail memories
The route was the same as every other Sunday morning. The dogs would rush between every shrubby bush along the blackjacked ridgeline to sniff out the scent of what creature had used it as an overnight abode. This was our weekly church
My stepfather would poke and prod us out of bed at sunrise and only after the short car-ride and once the dew-soaked grass had turned dry takkies soggy did my senses start to register the sanctity of our regular walk
