The House Guest

...

My son, his wife, children and the au pair headed to Florida last week. The only family member who did not make the trip was Remus, the family dog.

“What happened to Remus,” I hear you ask.

My telephone rang last Wednesday. It was my son. He explained they were going to Florida on Friday and asked if I could keep the dog.

“What if I can’t?”

“Then, I will have to start looking for a place to board her.” He replied.

I suppose the place would charge money and might not give Remus the personal attention she might expect from family. I considered the problem for a moment and agreed to board the dog free while everyone else enjoyed time in the sun.  They should enjoy guilt, too.

Remus is a sweet spirit. Half Border Collie, she is intelligent. Half Great Pyrenees, she is large. I think she weighs about 70 pounds, but I lack the curiosity to weigh her. I am willing to take my word for it. Besides, she is a good watchdog. When she hears any suspicious noise, she makes a loud, ferocious sounding bark. At the same time, she finds a hiding place behind something or under something else. She is a devout coward.

Son Ben called again on Thursday to say they were leaving early Friday. He asked if they might deliver Remus that afternoon. “Sure,” I said. In ten minutes, they arrived with the dog, her kennel and a bag of kibble. Remus is not fond of changes of scenery. She practically erected the kennel herself and climbed inside, where she sank into a deep funk.

She seemed to say, “Go ahead and enjoy your vacation. I’ll be happy to lie here until I am dead, no matter how long it might take.”

Who could imagine a dog working in guilt? Not I, at least until now.

In the fullness of time, Remus decided to leave her box and take sustenance in the kitchen. “I hope I choke,” she thought.

Shortly after she ate, Mother Nature called. I watched her suffer, legs crossed, for a half an hour before she would admit she needed to go out. She walked grudgingly to the backdoor and stood looking at me over her shoulder. I opened the door, all the while making encouraging noises. “Gooood dawg!” I crooned.

It was then I noticed one of the squirrels that frequent my bird feeders chowing-down on seeds. In the spirit of good fun, I pointed to the squirrel and said “Sic em, Remus!” I had no reason to believe she knew what “Sic em” meant. To my complete surprise, she turned in the direction I pointed and trotted between two palms, directly toward the squirrel.

I might mention the squirrels who frequent my feeders are a brazen lot, not given to panic. They are also obese and a sad sight when seen waddling up and down tree trunks. Still, the sight of a large, flouncing dog crashing through the palms riveted the squirrel’s attention. It stood stock still atop the feeder, hoping to pass unnoticed. It worked for a few seconds.

Clear of the plants, Remus stopped within two feet of the squirrel and surveyed her surroundings. It was then she noticed the squirrel. Did I mention Remus has long fur like a collie? She also has large, floppy ears and a bushy tail. When she left the ground, all her fur, her ears and tail were flying in the breeze. She looked a bit like a dragon. The squirrel’s fur was short, but its tail stood straight up, brush-like. Both animals’ eyes seemed to bulge in surprise.

The squirrel made a desperate leap for safety atop the fence. Terrified, Remus pivoted 180 degrees in mid-air and seemed to fly back in the direction from which she came, landing precisely at the back door.

“Oh my God, did you see that? It was horrible!” She seemed to plead.

Me? I laughed until I was weak. Yes, I should be ashamed. No, I am not, really.

Remus is back in her kennel now. I do not know if she will ever come out.

...

My Life, and Welcome to it

…

It began yesterday. It was the first sunny day I have seen in awhile and I resolved to manicure the landscape while I could still see over it. The idea seemed simple enough.

First, I planned to trim the verge in the lower forty, down by the creek. Unfortunately, a large limb covered most of it, so I retrieved the trusty chainsaw from the tool bin. It was out of fuel.

“No problem,” I thought. I fetched the 2-cycle fuel can. “Hmm. It’s empty, too.” I muttered. In a few minutes, I located the keys to my truck and headed for the gas station. Fifteen minutes later, I arrived home and filled the chainsaw’s tank. Pull as I might, it would not start. A little poking and prodding later, I discovered the chain was jammed.

“It probably got stuck on a shred of my blue jeans, “ I thought.

I found some antique hand tools and disassembled the saw. I cleaned the clutch of packed sawdust and readjusted the tension on the chain. Once reassembled, it started immediately.

“No problem,” I repeated.

I stripped the limb of all the small twigs and branches. The remainder was 100% firewood. That meant I would need to haul the cut pieces to the wood rack for storage. Who knows, it might snow again in the next decade. Then again, it might not.

I fetched my recently returned wheelbarrow, Starship Enterprise, to help haul the wood. Not so fast. The tire was flat.

“No problem,” I said through my teeth.

I got back into the truck and drove to the hardware store to buy a patch kit. Forty minutes later, I unbolted the wheel from the barrow and pried the tire from the wheel with a crowbar. I found the leak in the tube and glued a patch over it.

By now, it was after lunchtime. I returned to the house, cleaned up and enjoyed a gourmet frozen dinner. Mmm, mmm. That strapping 200-calorie lunch really hit the spot. I am still surprised I had strength enough to walk away from the table, but I managed.

Last week I ordered a video camera for my motorcycle. As I savored my lunch, the telephone rang. It was Jim, the local dealer, telling me I could come get the camera. I jumped into the truck and headed for Waxahachie to score some high-tech toy for my travelogues. These trips take time as Jim and I are both inclined to regale one another with stories of derring-do when we meet. When I returned home, I whipped-up another 200-calorie wonder meal and collapsed for the evening.

The lawn could wait one more day.

This morning, I returned to the simple and satisfying task of lawn maintenance. I checked the inner tube for leaks. It seemed sound. Next, I reassembled the wheelbarrow. When I finished, it looked pretty normal and wheelbarrowish.

“Good job, Hank.”

Finally, I loaded the refurbished chainsaw into the repaired wheelbarrow and set off for the jungle. When I arrived, everything was perfect, at least for the first ten seconds. I parked the wheelbarrow and started the chainsaw. Whiiiinnne went the saw. BUZZZZ went the chain. We seemed to be making a lot of noise, but no wood chips were flying. Soon, the wood I was cutting began to smoke. I stopped the saw and carefully ran a finger along the blade teeth. Nada. It was as dull as a butter knife.

"Probably got dulled when it chewed into my kneecap."

“No [bleeping] problem,” I spat.

I stalked back to the shed and put the saw on the shelf. Then, I selected the “good” chainsaw that sat right next to it. Five minutes later, wood chips filled the air and I was on my way to a yard worthy of House Beautiful.

I hauled and stacked the wood. Then, I trimmed the rough spots with the weed-eater. The edger made short work of the margins of the lawn and the mower chewed through the weeds of my formerly lush lawn as if they were in the fairway at Augusta. Ten minutes with a leaf blower removed the last traces of debris. It was a struggle, but it was almost worth it. The place looks much better.

As a final step, I climbed into my truck one last time to return it to its rightful place at the end of the drive. I crawled in and slammed the door. As the engine started, I happened to glance upward toward the sun visor. That is when I saw it. It was the biggest, blue butterfly ever seen, at least in my truck. I was too tired to startle much, so I thought of grabbing a camera. I slipped out quietly and dashed indoors. When I returned, the butterfly was right where I left him. I took a dozen photos. A few were okay.

I backed the truck into place and killed the engine. I ran the windows down so my butterfly passenger could find his [or her] way when he tired of being indoors. Then, I came in here to write about it.

That is enough for me.

The Hunt

I would like to say at the outset, I do not suffer from blood lust, particularly when it comes to deer. In my youth, I hunted like the character Will Muny in the movie Unforgiven. I shot nearly everything that walked, crawled or flew. Now, I am all murdered out. The thought of killing a deer, or any game for that matter, immediately brings to mind the unmaking of the beast. Then, my conscience reminds me of the delicious and inexpensive meats available at my local Costco. Such thoughts can sap anyone’s enthusiasm for harvesting fresh meat.

We arose early Sunday morning. I cooked a hot breakfast to sustain us through the day. Had I known what was in store, I might have dipped into something a bit stronger, say crack cocaine. We made the drive to the ranch (In these parts, they say “Rainch.”), arriving an hour before dawn. (I took a photo of the Somervell County Courthouse at about 0530!) We silently donned rifles, binoculars, skinning knives, pistols, hats, grenades, MP3 players and other paraphernalia necessary for our primitive adventure. Then, dressed as Redneck insurgents, we trudged through the darkness toward our hunting stands. After six weeks of rain, the earth squished as we walked.

Climbing into a ten-foot tall, wobbly and leaning deer stand in the pitch darkness is no mean feat. If I fell, I would land in the center of a collection of sharp, explosive gear and on top of a cactus. No good could come of that. We reached our perches without incident and began the long wait for Bambi’s father.

As I waited, I discovered my stand was next to the tree home to fifty thousand starving mosquitoes. Batting at them took my mind off the fact that one leg of my stand was sinking into the earth a little faster than the other two. If the list increased, I would eventually topple onto that earth.

No deer were available for shooting. We decided to visit a few local sites, including an old (1886) Norwegian church, St. Olaf’s Kirk. We stretched our legs and I took a few photos. Once refreshed, we returned to the hunt. Still, there were no deer. Part of me was disappointed, maybe insulted, the deer did not show. The rest of me was glad I would not be field dressing a carcass in the mud. I could live with that.

When we had enough empty silence, we walked back to the truck. Deer hunting without deer is very boring and even a little stressful. I found myself thinking “C’mon, you. Show up!” At the truck, we disarmed, disrobed and disinfected ourselves back to civilian configuration. Now, all we needed to do was drive home to hot showers, warm meals and early-to-bed. It was going to be a perfect day, after all.

When we arrived, I parked the truck at the end of a 200-foot road in the pasture. We kept close to the county road and away from the remote pastures for fear of sinking in the muddy earth.

It turned out we were a tad short on fear. I nudged the Toyota toward the gate and the hard surface road just beyond. After a hundred feet, I felt a sinking sensation and the truck seemed to get closer to the earth. Much closer. We were stuck. We were within sight of safety and solid earth less than 100 feet away. Reflexively, I gunned the engine. No progress. I slammed the transmission into reverse and revved the engine. The truck moved inches. Then I slammed the shifter into second gear and crushed the accelerator to the floor. We gained inches. A nearby debris pile provided wood, which we stuffed under the tires.

Did I mention black, gooey mud covered me from head to foot? Did I mention grass and twigs covered the mud? No? I was quite a sight. The truck fared no better and I wondered how the car wash people would react to a truck apparently made of mud, twigs and grass.

After a long struggle, the truck managed to wallow out of the mud and onto the county road. We drove home in silence, too exhausted to either laugh or cry. Still, I reckon it was a successful trip because I did not have to field dress a carcass and THEN be stuck in the mud.

Nature Trail Revealed!

For several weeks, I have threatened to photograph the little nature trail that bisects my neighborhood. Since I first thought of it, the trail has seldom been above water. Half the circuit was dry this morning and I set out, camera around neck, to capture as much of the natural beauty as possible.

A pair of extravagant berry bushes mark the trailhead. I do not know their names. Fred and Ethyl, maybe? They are a welcoming sight year round. If you have an idea what they are, let me know.

Immediately beyond, the trail curves hard left to parallel the local creek. Recently, it has been a navigable waterway, but has subsided to being full of water. The water has been fifteen to twenty feet higher in recent weeks and observant readers might find traces of debris in the trees and shrubs in these photos. At the curve, the trail is about forty feet above the creek.

The trail continues along the flood plain, rising and falling as much as fifty feet. The upgrades test the intrepid cyclist’s heart and will. The downgrades provide breath-restoring relief and high-speed excitement. Local wildlife includes a snowy heron who has grown accustomed to my presence. The little bugger did not show this morning. Maybe he’s camera shy.

Autumn colors are only beginning to emerge.  The continuous rains of the last month have rejuvenated the plant life, leaving them reluctant to go to sleep for the winter.  Sumack is one of the most flamboyant autumn plants.  Even these are muted, but still impressive to my eye.  See below.  I'll check in on it again next week, weather permitting.


The air was cool, dry and on the move (15 mph) when I hit the trail.  It was bracing!   Hauling a camera is the perfect excuse to pedal at a leisurely pace, avoiding the unsightly gasping and sweating that usually accompanies these outings.  I may take the camera from now on!

About two miles along, I discovered a stand of trees I've never noticed before. Yes, that's hard to believe, but they seem to have appeared from nowhere.  Odder, they are growing right next to the site of the raging torrent and they are more than twenty feet tall.  Maybe they're some sort of alien mutant trees trying to blend in until they take over the planet. (I wish them all the luck in the world. They can have my part.)

At the halfway mark, I discovered the spillway is under water.  Still.  Since it is also the bridge to the rest of the trail, I was stopped.  Nature teaches patience, darn her anyway. Perhaps tomorrow...

I expect the colors will get better and the light will continue to gain that pale golden hue that accompanies autumn.  If the rains forebear, there are many beautiful images waiting for someone to notice them.  I would be pleased if it were me.

I will share what I find in future posts.  I hope you enjoy these views even half as much as I.  I can still smell the wild scented air and feel tthe cool breezes on my cheek even now.  What could be better than a morning in autumn?  I am one lucky guy.