Migration in the Rain

I wanted to pull the covers back over my head.  I could hear it coming down in sheets.  Great.  Time to Migrate with the Pack for Food.  Can’t the pack go use the lawn?  Pretty Please?  The pack is cold and knows there is kibble in the kitchen.  I held an argument with Cesar Millan in my head.  Wow he’s persuasive. Guess who won?

I roll out of bed, committed to hunting.  I added a new line to my regular morning prayer: Please, God, let there be no food on the hunt today. (Cringe) I pause for a moment to apologize to God and all the people in the world for whom that prayer is justifiable heresy. Please God, let there be food for people who NEED it.

I have to pick Christmas up and put him on the floor.  He can hear the rain too.  Who knew a little fur ball could look so betrayed?

I gear up for the elements.  It’s freezing out there.  Gotta be around 45-50 degrees.  (My wife laughs at me.  She’s from one of the frozen states.  This would be shorts weather in her home town.  I get no sympathy.)  Knit cap: check.  Gloves: check.  Long underwear: check.  6 long sleeve shirts and a fleece: check.  Infamous parka: check.  Umbrella: double check.

Christmas sits sleepily by the door, he’s not quite sure how he got there.  I open the door, we step out, go down the stairs.  Christmas plants in the carport.  He couldn’t say more clearly “I. Am. Not. Going.”  He tries make a break for the house.

Fortunately, I’ve shared my life with a lap dog before.  I am prepared for this.  I whip out a yellow rubber doggie rain slicker (with hood) and have him strapped in before he knows what hit him.  I have to physically carry him to the sidewalk and set him down.  He’s not about to get his feet wet.

Can I just mention here that this is not my idea of a great morning walk?

Our walk attitudes go something like this:

Me: Focus ahead: think hunting for food. I am freezing.  FREEZING.

Christmas: Ew…step….ew…step…ew…step…ewwww…look up pleadingly…mom…ew…It’s RAINING.

Fortunately other dogs have come through and swept the neighbor hood for food.  Clean as a whistle.  Not a wrapper in sight.  Whew.  I’m horribly curious though, is there any crab left behind that tree?  Wow.  Not even one iota of shell.

Given all the drama I’m infusing into this rainy walk, you’d think I was mushing across the Alaskan Tundra.  I hunch my head down and we both walk miserably for our half hour, hunting.  As we head home, Christmas perks up…he knows there’s food there.

We both shake on the landing before going inside. Water flies in all directions.  I make his breakfast.  He eats.  Hunt resolved.

I look outside prepared to be content with the rain now that I am warm, img_4806-esafe, dry, and holding a mug of hot tea.

The sun is shining.   Not a cloud.

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