January 4, 2010. Monday.
Situation: Work for a couple hours today, get home around 3. I put on my walking clothes, but Mway and Moi are taking a nap. As I write this, I am waiting for them at any moment to come walking out of Moi’s bedroom door. I might as well say, as I’m waiting, that for the last couple months, to irritate me, Moi has put a photo of Mway up on my computer’s home page. It shows a slightly out-of-focus close-up of her lying on the bed, head turned toward the camera, eyes bugging out, tongue sticking out, poised as if ready anytime for a walk. After an hour I am tired of waiting for the nappers to awaken, and I go downstairs to put on my boots and snow suit. There is a thump from upstairs. I walk back up the stairs, and when I open the bedroom door, Mway is standing behind it, and shoots out the door.
State of the Path: It is too cold today to do anything but the circuit. In the back yard, grass is starting to stick out at places through the snow, but for the most part the snow that fell the other day is still pretty much here. On the path, there are some bare spots, with frozen ground and grass showing, a lot of frozen foot and paw prints. The snow, though, is still a powder on top. The seep at bugland is, for the first time, frozen.
State of the Creek: Most of the creek has frozen. The older ice that never melted is gray, the newer ice, too thick though to poke through with my walking stick, is transparent, and you can see the brown water beneath. In the spots where there are rocks, ice has formed a crystalline lattice; you can see water flowing underneath, as well as air bubbles sliding beneath, which disappear when they reach a small open area of water.
The Fetch: Throw the stick into the dead goldenrod, in the same places as has become my custom the last few days. On her fourth or so fetch, Mway steps on a thorn or something and begins limping, but her vigor is undiminished. One time she goes in the wrong direction, and I have to point to where the stick is. She is satisfied with herself after less than twenty fetches, and looks at me with the stick in her mouth. I thrust my finger at the ground. She drops the stick, and fetches one last time.
