Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.
As I pulled on my insulated Carhartts this morning, the meathead went into his excitedly barking and circling mode.
A dog’s life is a wonderfully pared-down existence.
In his mind, if I pulled on Carhartts, something was going on outside. And he simply wanted to be included.
I wanted to try to reach the town pond, just to satisfy what the impact of the Blizzard of 2011 looked like in open country.
But reality overcame me when I saw the drifts at the old rail tracks, unplowed drifts.
During the night, the town had plowed the alleys, but the area around the town pond was open land still covered with drifts.
And by then, yet again my face was feeling like Melanie Griffith’s looks (once again I will note that she was born only days after me).
There’s something about walking half a mile into a northwest breeze/wind on a sub-zero morning that makes me reassess my daily aims.
At least I do anyway.
As we turned around, a white pickup barreled past us.
Well, I take my entertainment where it comes.
If some dumbass was going to drive head-long into the drifts blocking shut the dirt road leading to the town pond, well, I wasn’t so cold that I couldn’t spend a few minutes to watch.
At the edge of the first drift, the driver stopped.
He did his own reassessment, then turned around.
It would have given me an interesting ethical question: Do you help a dumbass who lacks the good sense to not drive into a drifted roadway?
Here’s the difference between dogs and humans. They don’t ponder ethics. I would have at least considered my options. Dogs just act.
Maybe I have spent too much time shoveling the last three days and my brain is in chill mode.