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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
