Well, the trip next week has been cancelled. I'm disappointed, yet more concerned about the reasons for the cancellation and that pickle my friend finds himself in. I believe some bankside time with fishing poles is in order.
It's been about a week now, maybe less, that the ducks have been MIA. The last sighting was by DW, ducks on one side of the pond early of a morning, crows drinking across the way. So I took a walk around the pond today, looking for hide or feather or old nest, and found nothing. Then thought of other predators and sought out tell tale scat in the lean-to where the owls live. Nothing of a duck, hundreds of vole fur balls, and a pair of legs from what I would guess is a falcon.
It's not all bad news. I bought a pair of gym shoes that I like, and more importantly, fit my box-like feet. And they don't look like shoes for an elderly diabetic. So light on my feet, not one to wear anything less than work shoes/boots, which is incentive to go hiking, so there will be pictures, eventually, including, perhaps, one of the declining gut.
I have avoided photographing the four gophers I have trapped this week. I'm batting .800, which is very good, and instead of composting them as is my usual practice, I'm leaving them in the borrows and covering them with sod and dirt. Something to keep the dog's nose entertained as the weeks progress.
I have been thinking about starting a new blog. Maybe something with a title of "Not Much, You?" Or, "Give Me the Bad News First." Just thinking, mind you, of the tenor of late. The story-tellin' has dried up as I've got other things on my mind, and to tell the truth, I can see typing about clearing brush when my hands have already worked through it and are pretty much sick of it. And the fact of the matter is the other stuff that bounces around upstairs, while interesting to me, would for others be "Words to Sleep By."
Well, not all of them, but those would require regaining anonymity.