Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, our family’s mixed Lab.
Even as a pup, the meathead would go into a frenzy if he heard the plow doing that up and down clanging, even if it was a street over.
So of course he heard the plows that began hitting the streets, even in the distance after we had crossed the side rail separating the town from the wildness of the town pond.
Not sure where this came from, but we picked up another inch or inch and a half of snow overnight.
That is the fourth snowfall in a week.
Consdering everything, I did not expect much wildlife. And there was none. Though there must have been some around sometime in the last day. The meathead keep burying his snout into the snow and snuffling at something, not sure what.
Sometimes I truly think he just does it for the fun of it.
Ice fishermen were out yesterday, but the snow covered most of the holes. Though I saw one goofy hole in the middle of the north old clay pit. That’s not a spot a good fisherman would put a hole. There is no structure there.
As a general rule, ice fishermen are better fishermen and/or idiots.
On the south pit, I made out the faint outlines of holes dug in the ice on the break line, spots where the fish should be on the drop or near it.
Back downtown, the couple who runs the corner tavern came down the street with their snow shovels working. A guy in a construction pickup fishtailed his way down the block of the downtown shopping area.
Not sure if he was just playing or still had fumes of alcohol from watching the Bears game yesterday.
Buses were leaving the bus barn as we returned and a faint lifting of the darkness indicated dawn, such as it was, had come.
Winter settled in, we adjusted and go on.
No squirrels, just a few tracks of rabbits, no Canada geese, no mourning doves on the edge of town.
Time to burrow inward.