So it was, excuse-less and with enough chocolate mini-donuts in me to make it until a late dinner, Scrappy and I headed out. A half-hour before, the sky seemed to be assembling for the Apocalypse; Now it was bright and sunny, a nice breeze and a couple of puffy clouds. And what was nicer, there were no unattended kids running about chasing unleashed dogs! We took the sidewalk to the office, cut around to behind the complex (where, for you newbies, is the remains of the old Wabash & Erie Canal feeder, with greenway trail, woods and St. Joseph River just beyond), and headed back. About a third of the way back is an unanchored footbridge (that floats away in flood) and accompanying path that takes you, through weeds as high as Shaq's butt, to the greenway trail. This is a stone path that two years ago was hidden from apartment view by massive wild hollyhock bushes. They were cut out last year, and now the trail is screened by the aforementioned weeds.
Moving south, I decided that we'd head for Scrappy's landing. Again for the newbies, Scrappy's landing is at the end of a tiny animal trail that winds along the only high ground betwixt greenway and river bank, coming out in a small clearing at the riverbank. I have a picture of it, it's right... uhmm... uhh... ahh. Here.
We went there mainly because I didn't have a chance to take care of certain things before we left, and as a wise man once said, when you are a man, the great outdoors is your restroom.
Returning to the path, we caught sight of a ground hog about 100 ft up the trail. Now usually when I say "we" in this context, it means "I saw it but Scrappy was too busy sniffing a patch of animal urine to look up". But this time, by sheer BAL (Blind Ass Luck) Scrappy was looking up when the varmint took off. And so, just for fun, I told Scrappy, "Get 'im" and off we went. Mr. ground hog ran about fifty feet and dove into the weediest patch he could find with a convenient hole nearby. Scrappy made what my nephew used to call a "gallient" effort, and I think for a change actually found the right hole, albeit too late. (Not that the varmint was ever in any danger; If you are doubtful, read this story of Scrappy's last meeting with a ground hog.)
We then went to check out the green hole, and see if it was green. (Again, the green hole is one of many pits in the woods along the river, whether natural or man-made I cannot say, that fills with water; two autumns ago it was covered in green algae and really stood out. Hence, "green hole") Alas, the water therein was too fresh, no green. This is near the Plex soccer fields, and games were about everywhere. So we headed for home, our only further interruption a pair of mini- socceristas who buzzed us with motors roaring (Chrisspeak for 2 little boys who circled us going, "VRRRRROOOOOM!!!").
And now it is 4 hours later, my fingers can't see what they're typing, and Scrappy's over in the recliner dreaming dreams of fleeing marmots. Tomorrow there's no work for Laurie and me- only 70 orders came in today, damned slow season!- so I suspect we'll be repeating this story a time or two in the next 20 hrs or so. Until then , good night, and may the good news be yours ( A little Les Nessman there).