My family has a “camp” in the country, which also happens to be not far from where I live now. Growing up, we spent every summer weekend there. We call it “the farm” (because it used to be one, before my family bought it) and it was – and still is – my favorite place in the world.
Now that I live closer, it’s easier to decide to head to the farm on a whim, which is exactly what Mr. B and I did on Saturday. We were going to pick up the tractor, and ended up staying there for a few hours to mow grass and do a little bit of work. It was wonderful.
While we were up there, I noticed something strange: the dogs lose their minds the moment we arrive, and continue to act like little crackheads until we leave. The farm is a place for the extended family to get together, so we usually aren’t there alone. I just assumed that the dogs’ excitement was a result of being around other people and dogs, but after this weekend, I’m not so sure.
As soon as we pulled up to the gate they started bouncing around the car. They bolted out of the car as soon as we opened the door and ran and played for hours.
I understand their excitement over the fresh air, open spaces, all that nature to explore and revel in, but…we have that at home. I mean, we live on a farm. There is a hay field right next to our house. There is a creek in the woods behind our house. Yet, when I open the door and let them outside with the same amount of freedom that they have at the farm, they aren’t nearly as thrilled about it. They do play in the yard and occasionally explore the woods and field, but not with the omg-life-is-GREAT enthusiasm that they reserve for the farm. It’s odd, but adorable.
Honestly, I can’t really blame them, the farm is a magical place. It’s enough to make anyone so filled with joy that they go all batshit crazy and run around like a maniac. Well, it has that effect on me, at least.