Mulling things on my morning ramble,
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
I call Storm a meathead for a reason. He is not the sharpest critter to ever walk this earth.
But he is our meathead, and we love him.
This morning, a gust of wind, funneled between a neighbor's house and his garage, caught Storm in mid-stride. It threw his ass end around.
He turned and looked with this quizzical look.
I nearly busted up laughing.
That wind advisory is good to heed today.
With the wind, I didn't expect much in the way of wildlife. And there wasn't. It was a morning to hunker down.
At one point, I got out of the wind and I could hear the Canada geese faintly on the lake to the west. They have a good hole going over there.
By later today, we will have a bunch of holes in the town pond. The wind already was ripping open a bigger hole at the neckdown between the two old clay pits.
I find it interesting that ice can withstand warm temperatures fairly well, but wind is another matter.
It's not interesting what wind does to garbage cans pulled out for our Monday trash pickup. I lost count of how many lids were blown open and flapping in the wind. Several were knocked around or over.
The trees on the old rail bed, now a trail, above the south pit, rubbed together with an eerie squeak. Storm turned and eyed the place of the sound, then tucked his tail between his legs.
He is our meathead.
Every time the wind especially rustled the brush or leaves, he turned with expectation of a rabbit bolting or a squirrel scurrying off. By the end of the ramble, he figured out that wasn't happening this morning.
Back in town, one can by the corner tavern was blown over. I picked it up as best I could. In part just to make sure Storm didn't root through it for leftover pork or chicken bones.
Dawn is coming earlier, even on a gray overcast morning.