It Doesn't Matter It's James Joyce's Birthday, Groundhog Day, Candlemas, St. Bridget's Day, or My Parents' Wedding Anniversary

February 2, 2010.   Tuesday.

Situation:   Wake up at 8 am.   The animals are gathering around me even as I pee.  First I snap on the computer, second I go downstairs to let Mway out, third I fill the coffee maker with fresh grounds and water.   While the coffee is slowly getting made, I check the hopper to the wood pellet stove, look out on Mway, who’s sitting on the porch, and consider giving some canned cat food to Squeak, who’s smelling her dish on top of the refrigerator.  I decide not to give her any canned food, at least not right now (for years our cats always ate dried cat food, and I don’t feel like capitulating to this new indulgence on Moi’s part).   Since the coffee pot’s not yet filled, I put on a jacket to check on the chickens.  Mway shoots off the porch and runs to the cage, barking.  With difficulty I open the door to the cage, grab the chickens’ water dish, fill it at the spigot at the house, bring it back – Mway barking like mad the whole time.  Then she finds a stick in the yard, starts running around with it, but dashes to the back door when she sees that’s where I’m heading.  Inside, I fill her dish with dog food.  I learned last night that Moi’s coming home today around suppertime, so it’s only today that I have to take Mway on two walks.  But by late morning, I decide I’m only going to take her on one walk.  I have some rush work to do in the afternoon, and I don’t get around to taking her out till around 4 pm.

State of the Path:   I go to the coop to check for any eggs.  By this time in the afternoon, the chickens have already gone inside, so I create a ruckus when I open the coop door, chickens clucking and beating their wings at my face, running outside, Mway barking.  I find one egg and set it on the picnic table to bring in when I’m finished with the walk.   On the side path by the old orchard, I break apart with my feet several of the blackberry brambles lying across the ground that have been bothering Mway when she walks over them.  Down by the creek, I snap off a couple multiflora briars that are drooping down into the path.

State of the Creek:  Down past the log and barrel jam, I see Mway walking across the creek near some rock rapids to sniff at the weeds by the jam.  The blood on the log and on the ice has turned darker.  Mway knows something’s up, but she doesn’t find anything, and starts back across the creek, first slipping on some ice as she tries to walk across that, but then stepping through the water just above the rocks.   Considering that the ice is still thin in many spots, I decide not even to bother going down the side path by the skating pond to see if I can retrieve the golf ball.

The Fetch:   Standing in the middle of the clearing, I throw the stick in every direction.  Yet Mway only fetches the stick about five times.  She runs way ahead as we’re walking back on the path.   I grab the egg from the picnic table, and inside fill Mway’s dish with dog food.