An eventful walk

Eventful is a relative term, especially as you get older.  While twenty-somethings like my son might consider eventful a night at the bar, or getting a look from a hot babe at the mall, I am old enough to realize that if a hot babe looks at me a)my zipper's down, b) my drink just landed in my lap, c) a large insect is about to make a withdrawal from my neck, or d) the guy behind me mistakenly thinks I'm the one whose been hitting on his wife all night.  Yes, eventful is a much more easygoing thing these days, especially when your wingman has four legs and poops outside.

Nonetheless, here's what passed for eventful for us today.  Right out of the box, we were approaching the canal crossing when a neighbor left his dog out on his patio- only to realize too late he had left the gate open.  Said dog, a chocolate lab- type named Coco, made a bee-line right for us, several yards away and still on the sidewalk.  He had covered most of the distance by the time I pried Scrappy's attention from the latest p-mails on a signpost.  Fortunately, Coco was a friendly sort, and we led him towards his master, fast approaching with his leash.

After that, though, the eventfulness became tenuous as we made our way around the yet-empty soccer fields and the duck pond without anything more interesting than the aforementioned pooping outside.

Oh, and the goose parade..

  Then, at the back of the IPFW field:

Maybe not so exciting to you, but the first one we'd seen all year!


So we crossed the canal, the road, and started down "dead tree lane" after a thorough exam of every varmint hole around the barn, when a pickup truck pulled down the road, and quicker than I could say where the heck does he think he's going, he pulled up to us.  It was an old boy with a soaking wet black lab.  He started our conversation by asking "Who owns this land now?"  He then reminisced about how when he was a kid they swam where creek and river meet;  explained he'd come down to the river to get his dog used to the water;  told me he also had a timber wolf (which I hoped didn't explain the big bandage on his right hand); asked me if we hunted, and gave me training suggestions when I explained Scrappy's "proficiency" at the art (which seemed to include bringing a bag of bacon with you); mentioned he was an antique gun collector.  Then he said cheerio, and away they met, with his lab still looking at the as-usual oblivious Scrappy ("He loves all dogs," we were told) as they drove away.

About this time all the soccer-practicing runners started tearing down the trails like a pack of really sweaty, bare-backed (and noisy!) antelope, so I told Scrappy we'd just wander through the woods in hopes of avoiding them.  (Yeah, you avoid 40 mouth-breathing runners scattered in three packs who appear every time you put foot on main trail).  So into the forest we went.

 

 

The first thing we found was an eggshell.  It was real, and about thrice the size of the last egg I fried.  Funny, I hadn't SEEN any emus...

Then came this squirrel, who- unlike most of his brethren this year- was quite content to go about his business as we ambled by.  Scrappy, for his part, has been in "I'm going to ignore you" mode with squirrels since they teased the crap outta him one day when he was young, and saw no reason to change today.

So we moved on to the back road, and were soon buffeted by the legions of runners yet again.  So back into the woods we went.  Up ahead, I saw deer in the brush heading for the thick stuff in the north of the woods.  So I thought, why not?  We never go up there...

 

 

...and this is pretty much why.  While we never found the deer, we found abundant ways for a dog to take the wrong path and tangle himself.

Oh, and I found yet another orphaned golf ball for the collection...

...and found this in the fence row gap coming home!  I put it on the TV stand to see what kind of response we'd get when Laurie got up from a nap.  Answer:  "I see you found something."

So, yeah, that's what passes for eventful now that we're both in "dog years".