Excellent Adventure Number-Three

BAM!

The so-called “old guy” with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100 with flash.

So here we are walking the dog this afternoon (Thursday, January 31, 2008) at the so-called elitist country-club.
I start out, walking about three-fourths of the route with the dog, so that cancer-lady isn’t walking him that much. I used to walk the entire route.
After three-fourths cancer-lady takes over to finish the walk. —About two years ago it was the other way around.
We start down the long hill that bottoms out across a gully, and suddenly KA-BOOM; Killian has seen a critter of some sort.
Our fancy-dan retractable leash (pictured), which is about 4-5 years old, can’t take it any more. The cord breaks, and Killian is loose, running down the hill.
Uh-ohhhhh; ISP ALERT! Or it was our toothpaste.
Killian runs into the woods, dragging his leash-cord merrily behind him.
“I’m Loose! Yippee! FINALLY! You can call all you want, but I’m a hunter, and I ain’t comin’ back.”
Killian disappears into the woods — completely out of site.
Ten years old, but still able to break the leash.
We start calling. Probably another fevered search all around the park.
We continue up the other side of the gully, and up the road toward the parking-lot. No sign of the dog at all.
I turn around, looking through the woods, and here comes the dog, cantering up behind us.
“Well, lookity who,” I say; “a dog that doesn’t wanna be abandoned in these woods.”

RE: “Old guy with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100.......” —My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston, who is 13 years younger than me, calls me “the old guy” as a put-down (I also am the oldest). I also am loudly excoriated by all my siblings for preferring a professional camera (like the Nikon D100) instead of point-and-shoot. This is because I long ago sold photos to nationally published magazines.

Our dog is “Killian;” a rescue Irish-Setter. We don’t know his exact birthday.

“The so-called elitist country-club” is nearby Boughton (“BOW-tin”) Park, where we walk our dog. It was called that long ago by an editor at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, where I once worked, because it will only allow taxpayers of the three towns that own it to use it. We are residents of one of those towns.

My wife is “Linda.” She has lymphatic cancer. It’s treatable— she will survive.

RE: “About two years ago it was the other way around......” —Two years ago I was experiencing dizzy-spells, but am not any more. They’re why I retired.

RE: “ISP ALERT! Or it was our toothpaste.” —ISP equals Internet-Service-Provider; in our case RoadRunner via the cable. Last July my macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston visited, and set up a wireless Internet connection to my wireless router. His Internet reception was spotty, so he loudly blamed our Internet-Service-Provider (ISP). Now anything untoward (like the dog getting loose) is due to my ISP. —I also am loudly excoriated for using Colgate toothpaste instead of Crest.