Poor Rascal has not been having the best summer. Between heat and rain in July there were lots of days when he wanted nothing to do with going outside; and on top of that our schedule has been so unsettled, for reasons both pleasant and otherwise, that for a while he pretty much gave up on getting taken out. The last week or so was better—it's been beautifully cool morning and evening, and we've all had time for some nice long walks—but then yesterday he got bitten by some sort of bug and ran home immediately. And today he wouldn't go out at all. After dark, trying for the third or fourth time to walk him, I finally realized that he was still worried about bugs, and that feeling the leash against his shoulder made him think that they were after him again. Poor little guy! We ran around in the yard instead, but it's not the same. I suppose we'll see over the next few days how good his memory is; how long will it take him before he's ready to brave the wide world again?!