10 March 2012

Rain Or Shine

Heard enough of my walking the fucking dog stories? Too fucking bad!

I walk my dog when I get home from the fucking mill. Rain or shine. When I have had a good day the day gets even better; when I have had a bad one a little walk with my always grateful dog is like a hand extended to a drowning man.

Sometimes I stick the Hammer in the car and we go for a ride some place. She likes that best. So does the greedy oil company I buy my gasoline from. That is why most times we head out on foot.

I chose to live in the neighbourhood I do because there are lots of cool places to walk a dog that are real close by. Those places have a creek or a little pond for my dog to play in and around. We went to one of those places today.

Think dirty water, big trees and plants emerging shyly from the rotten, leafy mud beneath them.

Sometimes, like the little boy I keep just barely under wraps at the best of times, like today, I join my dog at the bottom of a ravine to play with her. She likes that best and when my dog is happy I just about always am too.

If it was not for ravines we would have no wild places left in my town. The city even lets developers build houses on the tops of the local small but highly unstable mountains within its borders. That is where the rich people live. Rich people, who we are trained to believe are wiser than us pay cheque to pay cheque types, will live anywhere a real estate agent tells them has a prestigious view, no matter how precarious.

I slipped going down the ravine today. Got muddied up pretty good. Just like I did every day when I was a kid. The Hammer came over and gave my face a good licking before I could get up. Now I was covered in both mud and dog drool. If I did not have a dog with me I might have been pissed off. Instead I was laughing at myself.

"Beer," I said to myself, "you clumsy dumb son of a bitch." Then I gave my dog a friendly whack on her backside and told her, "Let's go get us some fucking whisky."

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