My typical morning with Harry the Dog
Harry and I usually take a 30 minute trot (I have to be careful not to say "walk" around him) around our suburban neighborhood, at about 7:45 am and then again about 12 hours later. Anyone with a dog, or who watches Cesar Millan on TV knows that [as Cesar says] "a fish has to swim, a bird has to fly, and a dog's gotta walk." Add me to that list – I gotta walk too. With almost no other exercise on a typical day, this time is as important to me as it is to him. Walking at a brisk pace, we usually see the world gearing up for its commute to NYC or to any number of other destinations. This time of year though, people in their cars are less casual, now more focused on the road ahead through their partially defrosted windshield, continually reclouding with steam from the coffee trapped in their free hand's death grip. But that's on the busier roads bordering my quiet hamlet.
Each day I'm reminded how lucky I am to have a comfortable home office, a second floor perch with plenty of windows facing out onto a decent swath of the neighborhood. I rarely use my car, sometimes going a week without starting it. I've had some long commutes in my life, and for 6 years now – none. Aside from my cigar-chomping, retired Korean War vet neighbor Paul next door – who just loves, loves to regularly drag his impressive collection of power equipment all about his lawn – it's a quiet place to live and work.
Autumn is a favorite time of year for my pal Harry. Piles of curbed leaves appear regularly, sometimes compiled into imposing chicanes by roving squads of town-dispatched plows. Whatever their size and shape, they're Harry's playground(s). Not to frolic in the way children gleefully do, but to wade into, sniff sniff sniff, then pee on, like children (hopefully) do not do. With no end of big tall trees lining the streets we frequent, our brisk walks are puntuated by yanking course changes towards the newest amusement-cum-toilet.
These mounds of [mostly] decidious detritus are also now sparkling with morning frost, which in the low-streaming early light resemble giant nuggets of sugary, extremely high fiber cereal. I choke just entertaining that analogy.
And that, friends, is a take on mine and Harry's usual morning walk (d'oh!! He even knows when I'm typing that word!).
Each day I'm reminded how lucky I am to have a comfortable home office, a second floor perch with plenty of windows facing out onto a decent swath of the neighborhood. I rarely use my car, sometimes going a week without starting it. I've had some long commutes in my life, and for 6 years now – none. Aside from my cigar-chomping, retired Korean War vet neighbor Paul next door – who just loves, loves to regularly drag his impressive collection of power equipment all about his lawn – it's a quiet place to live and work.
Autumn is a favorite time of year for my pal Harry. Piles of curbed leaves appear regularly, sometimes compiled into imposing chicanes by roving squads of town-dispatched plows. Whatever their size and shape, they're Harry's playground(s). Not to frolic in the way children gleefully do, but to wade into, sniff sniff sniff, then pee on, like children (hopefully) do not do. With no end of big tall trees lining the streets we frequent, our brisk walks are puntuated by yanking course changes towards the newest amusement-cum-toilet.
These mounds of [mostly] decidious detritus are also now sparkling with morning frost, which in the low-streaming early light resemble giant nuggets of sugary, extremely high fiber cereal. I choke just entertaining that analogy.
And that, friends, is a take on mine and Harry's usual morning walk (d'oh!! He even knows when I'm typing that word!).
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:: bruce ::
Bruce Colthart Creative LLC
http://twitter.com/bccreative
http://blog.colthart.com
http://www.colthart.com
:: bruce ::
Bruce Colthart Creative LLC
http://twitter.com/bccreative
http://blog.colthart.com
http://www.colthart.com
