wrapping it up

 Monday (Memorial Day - yes, still haven't gotten around to Memorial Day yet) ended up being a bonus day for us down in Moab.  Having learned from past experience that the drive to SLC on the last day of a long weekend entails bucketloads of traffic and multiple additional hours in the car - where north-bound Route 6 goes from two lanes to one just before Spanish Fork is a particularly bad pinch point - we now leave very early Tuesday mornings instead, and just get in to work late.  This gives us the whole day to play when all the other weekend warriors have to pack up and go home.

Prickly pear

H's ribs were sore from the previous day's crash so we didn't want to do anything too rugged.  We three went to MOAB Brand trails where H MTBed - slowly and a bit gingerly - while M and I hiked.  We did our usual routes and Milton was pleased to find a still-full pothole out on Circle O.  H didn't break any land speed records but it was probably good that he got out and rode to shake out some of the stiffness and soreness that had set in.

Hooray for potholes!

Since we had one more night, we decided to make the most of it.  The Spitfire Smokehouse is a relatively new bar/restaurant in Moab, located where the old Rio used to be.  We don't eat BBQ anymore but they have a large bar behind the restaurant and the bar's patio is dog-friendly.  We walked over with Milton mid-afternoon, after the lunch crowd but before the evening crowd.  This was kind of brilliant on our part because we got a seat at the bar where we could chat with bartender Scott (whom we know from Woody's and whom we hadn't seen for months).  We hung out for quite a while, drinkin draft Hop Nosh IPAs, befriending locals and chatting with tourists.  

Waiting patiently for the people

Milton was in his element.  He loves people but he isn't pushy in the least.  So as the bar filled up, he would quietly walk up to people and just stand there until they noticed him and started patting him.  A couple of tourist girls (from Miami and NYC) thought he was the sweetest (he is); a bartender on her way out after her shift brought him a bowl of water with ice cubes, "because my dogs like ice," she said.  We even caught one guy sitting at a table behind us letting Milt lick his fingers after the guy finished his ribs: "They didn't bring me any napkins," he said with a grin, napkins clearly on the table in front of him.  We'll have to go back, if only so Milton can greet his adoring fans again.