Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
Our kids love the old game of Punch Bug, though it only applies to modern VW bugs. Slug Bugs are applied to the original style of bugs.
But our kids get highly irritated when I give them the Slug Bug treatment for old VWs in garages. We know of two garages with old VW bugs around town. That includes one that very much looks like a Love Bug, but is owned by a staunch Republican Baptist, which I find just hilarious.
I tell the kids that, as a former owner of multiple bugs, I can sense when a Slug Bug is in a garage, and that sense is just as true as actually seeing the Slug Bug.
They're not buying it. They say I have to actually see the Slug Bug.
Wondering what got me on that tangent of what is knowledge?
Well, on the extended ramble with the meathead, we go past a hidden foxhole. And every single time, Storm gives it a good sniff.
Now I wonder, ``What is he smelling? Can he tell if they were just there? Just left? Or are still at home, snug in their hole?''
But I know he knows without seeing.
This happened about the same time this morning that I heard a belted kingfisher take off and fly to the other side of the north old clay pit. I never saw it, but as surely as if I had, I know it was a belted kingfisher.
Just as birding friends of mine can tell what a songbird is by its song. I wish I had that knowledge, because a ton of songbirds were out this morning.
And what a morning, yet another spectacular fall morning: less frosty than recent ones, light winds and enough wisps of clouds to make another beautiful red-ball sunrise.
In the distance, I heard a Canada goose. I know it was a Canada goose, though I could never ;pick it out flying low over town.
Again, a rather quiet morning, other than songbirds, for wildlife.
Until we got back in town. Then Storm ran gray squirrels up a decorative fruit tree and a red maple.
Thirteen Canada geese in a string came off a nearby lake over town, followed shortly by a pair, then seven more in a string in the distance.
I could see and hear them, both ways of knowledge.
A final squirrel was nearly trapped in our dogwood tree, but it scooted off, knowingly, around and behind us as the meathead and I finished.