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Ramble with Storm: Goosed rut

Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.

Some seven or eight Canada geese sailed around the island on the town pond and raised a ruckus as Storm and I rambled past this morning.

The thing about routines is the routine.

Anything out of the routine knocks me out of my morning rut of mulling life.

After nearly a decade of this morning routine, I know it’s time for goslings.

So, I assumed that is what all the racket was about, but couldn’t find any swimming beside the protection of the adult geese.

The goose was off the nest on the island and I could see an egg, but couldn’t quite tell if it was the broken shell of a hatched egg or an egg left alone.

The thing about routines is the routine.

After nearly a decade of circling the town pond with first the late and much lamented Flash and the last three years with Storm, I find myself locked into starting the day with the ramble.

So is Storm.

He has my routine down.

He knows I start coffee, check e-mail, drink coffee, set the table for the family, drink coffee, check e-mail and some news sites, then eventually sort through the jacket pile for the apt one for that morning.

And he begins barking and jumping around.

The next step in that routine is getting the leash, then heading out the front door.

He knows the thing about routines is the routine.

For four days I was gone, fishing and hanging out in a mountain cabin with my dad.

It was good. But my days were discombobulated until I got back into some semblance of a routine with a long walk Sunday before dawn.

The air by Black Moshannon Creek was filled with the sounds of spring peepers, one bullfrog and songbirds I couldn’t identify.

I had hoped to hear a turkey gobbling in the early light, but no such luck.

That was a different routine with just the skeleton of the long walk.

This morning it felt good to settle back into my regular one, Storm on the leash and the town pond.

There was something different on the trail along the old railroad bed. The weekend storms had knocked two dead trees across the path.

Storm jumped over them. I stepped over.

Another hitch added to the morning ramble.