I don’t use ‘dirty’ words often. Here I use sh*! very
literally, not even as a swear word. Picture
this: minus 8 degrees outside (OK, it is
Celsius) , a foot of snow on the ground, and I decide to take the dogs for a
romp in the woods. After all, there isn’t any mud, so there will be no need for
bathes afterwards (for the dogs, anyway).
And I can start letting Tuca off lead a bit. She can’t get
too far ahead in the snow, and we can follow her trail easily to find her if
she doesn’t come back. By we, I mean our other dog Ute and I. Ute is very
reliable, so I Know he’ll come back right away, or look for Tuca if I ask him
to.
Of course, the woods don’t look the same in the snow. And I
get a bit overconfident about being able to follow our trail or my shadow
directions back… so we get a little lost. Not to worry, these woods are small
and bordered on every side by civilization, so no real danger. But when Tuca
flushes a deer and gives (very slow) chase, it adds a significant and
interesting branch to our walk, which is now a trot. And I decide we need to
head out of the woods at nearest edge, to travel home on the semi cleared
sidewalks for more comfortable, and quicker, travel.
I did wear snow boots and snowboarding pants, but my gloves
are fingerless and my hands are starting to get too cold for comfort. I can’t
keep them in my pockets while the dogs are on leashes as we walk near the road
full of cars, you see. (See where this is going yet?)
Despite our hour of wandering in the woods and leaving dog “posts”
along the path (the dogs, not me), Ute still manages to leave a steamy pile in
the snow near the sidewalk, so of course I have to pick this up (in a plastic
bag, brought along or this purpose). Guess what? Nature’s hand warmer. The term
“Good Shit” carries a whole new meaning for me now.
I suppose I could get all existential and ponder what this
suggests for a philosophical attitude toward life, but I think I’ll stop here
and just appreciate what a difference timing and attitude both make when shit
goes down.
