A Dog Doing Man's Work

photo by Chuck and Nora Kegley
As you may have gathered, it's been a long January. First, Bill was in Florida for five days. He was home for three days. I left for Florida for four days. I came home for two days. He left for Florida again, for seven days. Not that I'm counting, or anything, but my gosh. A girl has her limits. OK, we've been together 15 years. But I MISS MY MAN. He killed 'em, by all reports, at his keynote at the Space Coast Festival in Titusville, Florida. Humor and music are right in his wheelhouse and he serves them up with aplomb. It ain't easy to get up in front of 150 people with only a guitar and your imagination, but he did it, and I am very proud of him. And more than ready to hear his voice rumbling out of his chest, rather than over the tinny speaker of the damn telephone.
Chet Baker does his best to help. He pesters me to play and go for walks.Photo by P. L. Thompson
Mether, I am ready to play. Try to get this rope. Just try.

He nudges me and moans and pinches me with his toenails until I finally get up and lace on my hikers. We took our first walk on Friday, the first since he was diagnosed with some kind of ligament problem in his left hind leg. I had high hopes that a month of total rest would set things right. And he held that leg up more than he had a month ago. Rats, rats, rats. I don't know what to do now, except to haul him back to Dr. Lutz and let her feel his knee again. Maybe he's got an X-ray in his future. Maybe surgery. Maybe he's just stiff from not using it. I dunno. But I'm pretty bummed about it. We both lay around for five weeks, only for this. I'm trying not to think of all the things we missed out there on the trail.

We were well down the trail, though, and I decided to just do the Loop, bum knee or no knee. Part of Chet's job description is Walk Companion, and we were both itching for the exercise. There were lots of vole tunnels to explore.
And there might have been a squirrel up in the pines.

The overlook was a perfect Grandma Moses scene, all stark and cross-stitched in black and white. Color flees in winter, but it makes its return in spring all the sweeter.
I was bummed to find one of our fine shagbark hickories, a line tree no less, had blown down in a storm the other night. RATS! You can see the sign where Bill posted against hunting. I hate to lose a good tree to wind or anything else. Baker inspected and declared it past hope.
It's a matter of hours now until sweet BOTB darkens this door again. I've knocked myself out cleaning the house, to make it nice to come home to. I've made a wonderful beef stew; I have just the right bottle of Pinot Noir to complement it. Hurry home, darlin'. Until then, I'll have to get my kisses where I can.photo by P.L. Thompson. Look at those overgrown toenails! Gotta get out the Dremel.

Ah kin love you like that, Mether.