Seven Thousand Plus Steps

Now that my husband has retired, we've done our best to take a three mile walk each morning. Because we have to pass a house with six or seven dogs, he carries a shovel handle - just in case.  Sometimes, like this morning, the dogs were no where to be found.

We've come to learn a bit about these dogs. Among them, there are two hounds.  One is usually tied up, the other loose. When we hear a hound howling alone, it means the others are gone.  The road is clear.  When we hear a hound barking in the distance, it means the dogs are all hunting.  Again, the road is clear.  If we don't hear anything, it means I move to the other side of the road and my husband grips the shovel handle a little tighter.  So far, so good.

Along the way, our conversation turns to how well Reynolds keeps his acreage mowed and how badly he needs a new roof.  We chuckle at last year's Christmas wreath (which is now brown) with the red plastic ribbon still hanging on his front door.  

We can't help but notice the abundance of black walnut trees along the road and how we'd like to come back and dig up a few to transplant in our yard, and what we should do for the remainder of the day.  

Farther along, we point to the trampled grass along the roadside where the deer have crossed; and, let our eyes scour the fields for evidence. A doe and her fawn cross not far from us.

It takes us about an hour to complete the trek.  Sometimes, a little longer, depending if we stop to notice something in particular.  Today, we noticed there were several more televisions and a set of tires to add to the pool pump, all the beer cans, and a few other items strewn along the road.   Regardless, it's good to be home.  

To quote John Denver, "the place where I belong."