Feet Get Soaked

May 11, 2010.  Tuesday.

Situation:  Work late morning, afternoon.  I take Mway out when I get home, about 4:30.  It’s cold and rainy, and I wear my denim jacket.  I could justify not taking her for a walk today, and could just throw the stick in the back yard, but I do like to walk in the rain, and would have no hesitation at all expect for my poor quality boots.

State of the Path:  The chickens run up to me as I step off the back porch, looking for a handout, as they do on almost every walk, and Mway runs through their ranks.  When I see the trash that’s piled up near the outbuilding and in the walled garden, I consider that it would be a good time, according to Moi’s thinking, to burn it today, but then I decide against it – I mow the lawn, Moi burns the trash, goes my line of thinking (by the way, I did finish the lawn last night, and I’m glad I did because it looks like there would be no other chance to do it this week).  It’s not raining when we first step out, but by the time I’m at the sumacs, I feel my socks going damp.  While Mway’s sniffing a weed, a rabbit runs in the opposite direction – Mway doesn’t see it.  Down at the corner of the property, I look at the oaks again, and I start counting how many young trees there are, and I consider making an inventory of all the trees along the creek, but that would entail, I think to do it right, more work than I’m prepared to do right now.  There’s one small tree growing right along the creek bank that looks like some kind of ash to me, and careful not to fall over the bank, I reach out to count how many leaflets are on the compound leaf – I count 14; now if I can find something in Audubon that matches that, perhaps I can make an identification, but leafing through the book just now, I don’t see anything that comes close.

State of the Creek:  By the time I’m walking by the creek, it has started to rain.  The water in the creek’s not much higher than yesterday, but the rocks that were white and dry are now wet.  Most of the swale from bug land is dry.  By the time I’m walking along bug land, my feet are soaked, and I realize there are two Russian olive bushes I should trim back, because they jut fiercely into the path.

The Fetch:  I bring along a small stick today, and Mway fetches it more times than I care to count.  I toss the stick first as I’m walking across the clearing, and Mway fetches it in no time.  My second toss is a kind of underhand throw, and Mway, not seeing where it went, runs in the wrong direction.  I call out to her and point in the direction where the stick is, but she continues searching where she is in the higher weeds.  I finally have to go over to the stick myself and pick it up.  On another toss, she bounds off in the wrong direction again – but this time she doubles back in the right direction and manages to snatch it up as I’m walking toward it.