Chills and Coco

Good morning all:

Had a great day yesterday and a little scare.

My fat white dog Buzz and I went for a 90-minute walk in the woods of White Clay Creek Park. It was Wait!! I don’t want to write it this way.

Buzz at his most alluring.

Bill and his overweight white dog Buzz pulled into White Clay Creek State Park’s Paper Mill Road back entrance. The red Toyota Tacoma bounced down the rutted road toward the little parking lot where most of the biking/hiking trails begin. It’s a fairly good, though rustic, network of trails.

When they started their walk, Bill had a half-drank (or is it drunk) cup of black coffee from Dunkin Donuts in one hand and the retractable lead attached to Buzz in the other. Parts of the trail were a bit slick from some snow and ice that had melted from early day sun.

So off they went dodging the occasional mountain biker and strolling along the five-mile (or so) trail. It was cold and the rolling hills helped Bill work up a sweat. Buzz acquitted himself well and basked in the different smells the odd pile of deer droppings and whatever else smells good to dogs, but disgusting to humans.

Other then the stone quiet of the day two things highlighted the walk. Vibrant blue finch-like birds flittered from leafless bush to leafless bush as if putting on a show or ushering out the two interlopers. And after walking about twenty minutes, Bill finished his coffee and since there are no trash cans (a pack in, pack out area) Bill had to carry his white coffee cup in his hand and eventually the spittle from the bottom of the cup dripped onto Buzz’s back adding some beige polka dots to his white mane.

The walk – the on the cold side – was grand – as the British say.

The two explorers went home with visions of snack dancing in their heads for the NFL playoffs set for the evening. It was to be a feast of disgusting—though obligatory food.

Since the games didn’t kickoff ‘till about 4 p.m. there was enough time for a bit of a nap.  Bill took off his black sweat-soaked Carhart long sleeve tee shirt (it makes him feel like a many man) and climbed into bed. His teeth were almost chattering from a chill he had picked up on the walk.

During his cancer treatments Bill had been twice rushed to the hospital and ended up being admitted for various complications and the episodes started with chills. His self diagnosed PTSD kicked in.

“Shit,” he thought. “I’m getting sick again. Maybe it’s just a chill. I have to keep quiet about this. I don’t want to scare my wife. Shit.

The Blast furnace

Well As the next little while passed and Bill still could warm up he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and called his Yorkshire Terrier Coco.

“Coco can save me,” he thought. “We don’t call her the blast furnace for nothing.”

“Coco! Come here baby,” he shouted in his most pleasant voice. “Daddy needs to see you.”

The dog, ever the contrarian, ran to the side of peeked over and ran the other way.

“I’m gonna kill that dog,” He thought.

“Coco! Come here.”

After three or four attempts Coco finally jumped on the bed and as is her habit, crawled under the blankets and snuggled Bill.

Once upon a time people used bed warmers with hot coals inside a decorative brass lidded pan, sliding the pan between the sheets and blankets. Coco has that ability, minus the fire danger.

So when Bills right side got warmer, he loved the dog to his left side, and right, then left and on and on. Coco finally realizing she was just an object of convection instead of affection, took off. NO matter Bill was toasty and settled in for a worry free nap.