I offered to Windex the smudges. But no. (photo by Chris Erskine)

The puppy’s heart beats against my thumb as she sleeps in my lap on the end of a dock.

Late-summer morning. Random Saturday. 7 a.m.

A small-mouth bass nabs the rubber worm on the end of my line, an exciting moment, perhaps too much activity for so early in the day.

The hook proves too big and the lucky fish escapes deep into the lake.

Na-na-na-naaaa, na-na-na-naaaa, hey-hey, goodbye…

To date, my life has been a series of near-misses and condolences. Add one more.

No secret that I have a ragamuffin heart. I live vicariously through puppies and fish.

I fall asleep too early, I fall in love too quick. I’m a cranky, self-taught optimist in the tradition of Rip Van Winkle and Hawkeye Pierce.

Maybe that explains this wee puppy in my lap, with her telltale heart. I can barely feel it. Her heartbeat is a caress, a tick without a tock. It’s like a thought that barely registers as you drift off to sleep.

Obviously, I live life at a molecular level, not grandly, like Bezos or Musk or even my favorite rapper, Tity Boi/2Chainz.

I own, like, three decent pairs of shoes.

FYI, I saw a clip of Olivia Rodrigo flouncing around the stage the other day, screaming about love – not singing, as performers once did – more like something you’d blurt if you accidentally smashed your pinky with a hammer.

Still, fans grabbed for the young pop star as if she were made of cheeseburgers.

Know how new stuff gets such a bad name? This is why.

Give me this dock. The moment is nearly perfect, the lake glassy as a baby’s milky smile. A mama mallard glides by. My coffee grows cold. Slurp. Slurp. Yum.

The tiny pup sleeps at my feet now … tick, tick, tick … as I chase my Moby, the elusive small-mouth bass.

FYI, I need water – a lake, the ocean – the way peanut butter craves jelly, the way Sonny chased Cher.

For the past few summers, I jumped into the raging sea once a week to soothe my own savage heart, to take the sting out of a frantic L.A. life.

I’d wade in, thrash around a bit, corkscrew into a wave, look for surfing dolphins. Inevitably, it was one of those stained-glass moments that blows your mind.

The plunges became the bridge between the working world (42 long years) and a wiggly retirement.

For the record, I no longer enjoy cities the way I once did – the buzz, the craft cocktails, the forever line at the trendy sushi spot.

More and more, I crave the country – the chipmunks, the little diners, solitude.

Honestly, I could be forever happy in a canoe, a puppy in my lap, a book in my other lap. The way some people have double chins, I have double laps.

Look, we all need a spoonful of pleasure, something to do, a bit of visual poetry.

On this lake in the woods, I have found all three. This place seems the answer to some long-held want.

The grandkids came up the other day, just long enough to sticky the doorknobs and decorate the windows with their handprints.

I offered to Windex the smudges, but Suzanne declined. She liked the tiny handprints on the patio door. They added a layer of folk art – and youth – to the cozy old place.

Best moment? When my grandson Puddles, almost 2, caught his first fish. It seemed to him a miracle. And it was.

When the beautiful bluegill flopped around, and everybody screamed and pulled out camera phones, it was as much excitement as I need anymore.

What fine moments I’ve had in Los Angeles – Rose Bowls and Dodger games, even an Oscars.

For now, you can keep your Guns N’ Roses concerts, your Jay-Z shows.

I’d rather be slowly consumed by crabs than wait in a car line at So-Fi.

Note how – despite all the advances – we keep looping back to life’s simple pleasures?

Remember that old core paradox: “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”

True dat.

Yet, creaky old lake cottages will never go out of style. Pancake-and-PJ mornings with your grandkids will be a mitzvah till God turns out the lights.

“Dad, you sound like you have dust in your grooves,” Smartacus teased the other day.

Yep, son. Thanks for noticing.

The pup that likes to fish with me. (photo by Chris Erskine)