Folks,

C51:

You wrote "I have heard of them staying so late on the northern lakes that a quick freeze made it impossible to get airborne...." Shouldn't that have read quack-freeze? ;\)

It has been raining since about 6 AM here today(Saturday). We have a winter storm warning from 4 PM today until 6 AM on Sunday. The earlier more optimistic predictions from the Oija board crowd of a foot of snow have dwindled to just 2 to 4 inches. Little difference that will make in an area that has not seen any measurable snow in 4 years. With temps expected to stay below freezing tonight and tomorrow and drop to about -9 C./15 F. Sunday night, we will probably be all but paralyzed for several days.

All this rain will become a sheet of ice covered in frozen snow. I have cleaned a sizable pane of glass for my dear wife to press her nose against when the flakes begin to fall. She will be on the phone to her mom and sisters as they giggle like kids and reminisce over snows of the past. Down here snow, at least at the beginning, is cause for small celebration. Pretty it is and unusual here but it has its obvious disadvantages. Unlike you Eskimos hibernating up there in Igloo Country, we haven't a clue how to walk, much less drive on that slippery stuff in eastern NC. Yes, in all probability I will be falling on my ice tomorrow. If the thoughts of that make you rub your hands together in hopeful anticipation, stay tuned.

Yup, in spite of it, I am looking forward to some long tramps in the woods while the snow lasts. It will be a real wintertime treat. Our snow will be clean so Wifey will make snowcream and we may try to make a snowman if I can find those blueprints you once sent me. Let's see now...does a snowman have 3 large balls or one large and two small balls or just one large, one small and one medium ball?

The promise of snow raises my spirits but the memory of our last one also saddens me. It was 4 years back that we lost our loyal black Belgian Shepherd, Chief. The snow was deep, the night much colder than expected and his trusty old heart just gave out. He would not come inside. He was far too proud of his lofty position as protector of the family. The only time we actually could get him to stay inside was during the last hurricane. Even then he complained bitterly and was totally miserable. He died at his post and I grieve to this day for that brave old dog.

He should have been fine that cold night in February. He had a very good shelter out of the wind. He wasn't in it when we found him. We suppose he was trying to ward off some real or imagined interloper when he was stricken. We have had deer and even bears visit us in our little grove of trees. When our son had the dog, Chief had developed heart worms and while the treatment for that saved his life, the vet told us his heart must have been damaged.

How he loved to tramp through the snow with me. Hell, he was up for just about anything as long as it was with me. "Let's go run barefoot over red hot coals Chief"... Woof! Woof! Two woofs always meant yes. I can still see him bounding about in the snow or the wild flowers or the sand or whatever, free from his chains and happy to just be alive and near me.

As I sit here in the gloom of winter, my mind reaches back and I swear I just heard him bark. It caused a chill to run down my spine. Or perhaps it was just the swirling drafts of this old house trapped in the icy grip of in winter weather? Whatever it was, I miss that old dog, my companion, my pal; I really do. We have never gotten another dog. We have several huge cats. Cats are fine and I love them but it isn't the same is it? When I go for a long trudge in knee-deep powder tomorrow, a quick glance at the catnip crowd dozing in the sun will be quite enough to remind me not to bother asking if anyone wants to go with me. I would get big yawns and dirty looks for my effort.

Perhaps I shouldn't be too critical of them. It must be hell padding out in snow so deep only your frozen tail shows above it to dig a hole in middle of a blizzard just to squat and relieve yourself. 'Different strokes' they always say, so I will not linger about with any hope of a feline companion. No, I will turn and march along with the sun on my shoulders and pretend that I hear happy barking.

Alas, no visit to Scotland for me this year. I am remanded to hearth and home in what amounts to house arrest by my live-in keeper of the itinerary who occasionally also serves as wife and loving mother of our child. My continued presence here has also been deemed far too important to allow any serious extended travel plans by a small yet honorable community of beer, lottery ticket and certain other purveyors of legal vices. Gentlemen and ladies who depend upon my custom to buy shoes for their burgeoning complement of wailing kiddies. Sigh! All visions of my guzzling down gallons of ancient single malt straight from the charred cask and freshly bottled or sipping flagons of delicious honey-flavored meade as I busily tick off bird after bird on Dux's yard-long tick sheet, have now evaporated.

On the other hand, if such a visit by Dux to the New World were actually in the planning stages, I would be happy to hear it. In that event, someone should do the honorable thing and warn the distillers and brewers of Canada that Dux is coming. Otherwise they might reasonably be expected to fall far far short of increased demand in certain labels. ;\)

As for moi, I would love to meet with you friendly fellows over a pint anywhere within staggering distance of the nearest hospital, however, as my birding skills are practically nil someone better bring me their copy of Roger Tory Peterson's "North American Birds that are Devilishly Hard to Spot".

Otherwise, after ticking off chickens, ducks, and seagulls I will have precious little else to do but scratch, sip my Wild Turkey and snooze.... Hmmmmmm.... On second thought, forget the damn book, that other stuff sounds just great to me. \:\)







Originally Registered January,2001 Member Number 3044

"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed" - Edmond Gwenn, "The Trouble With Harry"

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