Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.When it comes to playing Punch Bug with the kids, I keep telling them my version is like faith, belief in things unseen.And they retort, “The rules are you have to see the Punch Bug.”
Who knew there were official rules to Punch Bug. I thought they just sort of evolved with each family unit.
An owl and turkey brought me to Slug Bugs and we will get to them.
I love Bugs, had three or four of the classic version, or Slug Bugs in our family terminology.
So I know who in town and out are lovers and keepers of Bugs. The most rabid is a Baptist of all things. And he has a Love Bug sort of Bug among his collection. I don’t know why I find that fascinating but I do.
When we pass a garage where I know one of the classic Bugs is housed, I do a Punch Bug or Slug Bug.
And the kids slug back because they say not seeing it means it doesn’t count.
So I finally went and looked up the official version of Saint Paul’s famous admonition on faith in Hebrews 11:1-2.
1Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see 2This is what the ancients were commended for.
I forgot about the second verse until I looked it up the NIV version in biblehub.com. I can’t wait to let my kids hear that part of it.
What took me to things unseen was last night.
A great horned owl hunted outside of our window around 3 in the morning. Even my wife heard it.
But I did not get up, I was confident it was a great horned owl. If it was winter or late fall with bare trees, I may have crawled out of bed to look for it. But not in heavy late summer foliage.
Then on the morning ramble with the meathead, as we came around the south end of the south old clay pit, I heard a wild turkey clucking along the main twin rail tracks to the east.
It is unusual, but did not surprise me. I have photographed and seen turkeys along the side rail north of town and the main tracks east of town.
Even though I didn’t see the turkey. I knew what it was.
That was only big excitement of the calm, quiet morning.
The only real wildlife was a flock of Canada geese honking and flying out of sight to the east as we set out. Then another flock as we approached the town pond.
As usual, when we wrapped up the extended part of the extended ramble, the meathead buried his snout in the foxhole along the north pit.
He cannot see the foxes, but I am damm sure that his nose is giving him all kinds of information about what is going on around there.
A few big fish swirled off the shoreline of the south pit.
Back on the edge of town, I finally saw some mourning doves, a good dozen or so scattered on the wires and gathering grit in the gravel by the grain elevator by the rail tracks.
A street from home the meathead felt obligated to run a gray squirrel up a light pole. Another squirrel snuck off unseen by him as we came up the front steps.
Unseen, but there.
