One morning as we wend our way to the bog the neighborly rooster crows into the quiet of the unfrozen pre-spring morning, urging any and all to notice what a day it is. The hound is happy to sniff and sniff – not so much in a hurry to run today after a long romp with his pal the day before. I am perfecting a jaunty step/careful waggle, avoiding the thick patches of ice on the trail. As we near the lowest point, taking our usual left by the old tree stand, the bog suddenly comes alive and aroar with honking and quacking.
Now the hound lope-gallops the last bit down and I, eager to get there at least with him, fumbling at the camera, shuffle-gallop-jump crashing in and over old snow and ice to try to get the geese before they take their protest at being disrupted to higher places.
For once we were early but now we spend a long time just hanging out at the edge of the water counting the four ducks and three, no four geese that take their sweet time before flying off.
Then it’s hurry-shuffle home traversing lots more ice on the far side of the trail. Suddenly, tok-tok-tok-tok, there’s the woodpecker working hard to get a girl to respond to his eager pecking at the roof of the other neighbor’s barn. I think I must have heard it wrong. Nope, there he is, tok-tok-tok-tok-tok.
Late to work again.
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