Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
This was one of those rare mornings where I wished we lived 50 miles north of Chicago instead of 50 miles south.
Just miserable: 35 degrees and a steady rain.
At least well to the north of the city, there would be a chance of it being cold enough for some snow to stick to grass and car windshields.
This is why I hate fall. Those of you who rhapsodize about the wonders of fall, step outside and stand there for a couple hours.
One of those morning where you leave the cellphone and wallet on the dining room table so they don't get wet or damp.
Which I did, then set out, pulling the camo cap down and the hoods on hood coats up
Unexpectedly, I spotted a few earthworms crawling on the road by ballfield. But I didn't stop to pick any up, the meathead and I were hightailing it on the basic ramble to get done and out of the rain.
I didn't expect much in terms of wildlife. And there wasn't. In fact, it was less than that. Nothing. Not even the rattling call of the belted kingfisher in the distance on the town pond or the cackling of Canada geese on the lake to the west.
Basically, it reminded me of the Cubs. You know, 103 years and counting, I believe.