Sometimes in a moment of reverie I hearken back to treasured memories of my days as a young pup; when each moment was seized by my mind (and my paws or jaws) with gusto.  I was eager for new textures, tastes and colors that would stimulate my senses and innervate my developing brain.  It's amazing how objects and experiences that seem somewhat mundane and simple now had such meaning and impact back when I was young. I don't know what feeling and emotion is engendered in your psyche when you walk down the sidewalk and see a particularly well developed stick laying on the ground.  Nowadays in the midst of such an encounter, I might not even notice all of the possibilities nascent in the moment.  I must be getting old. It's not that I've totally forgotten how to play, or that I can no longer appreciate the exquisite taste of woody oak pulp with just a hint of terra mixed with my saliva.  On a good day all of those potentials still present themselves; and as I walk along the path and a nicely toned stick comes into view I pounce on it, its particular flavor fills my mouth and I lift it in triumph. Head held high I take the lead and the spring in my step returns from wherever it went to.  Sometimes it just takes a good stick to brighten your day and make you feel young again.  If anyone ever asks you why it is that you look so young and playful today, and how it is that you seem to be prancing quite lightly on this particular afternoon just tell them to stick it.  In the event they don't detect the obvious good will in your inflection, I advise you to be ready to run. And maybe keep your favorite big club of a stick nearby.