“Ya never know whatcha might see”

This morning (Saturday, June 13, 2009), since my wife was working at the Post-Office, I decided to take our dog to the so-called elitist country-club first thing, before breakfast.
A complete circumnavigation of the park paths in relative solitude; the early dog gets the squirrel.
We complete the first third, down the West Pond Trail, dog lunging and pulling merrily.
We cross the driveway and begin the East Pond Trail.
Down the steps, which are just halved railroad ties set in the hillside, then out along the long board walkway over the swamp.
Over another short walkway, and up a long grade.
Suddenly I see a couple off in the woods, clearly humping.
The girl, still fully dressed (up top, at least) is straddling the guy, supine on the forest floor, quietly humping.
“This way, meat-head,” I quietly say, trying to be unobtrusive.
“Marcy, it’s everywhere,” I think.
I avert my eyes so as to not embarrass the couple.
But my dog is gawking.
They’re clearly visible, about 20 yards off the path.
And it’s obvious what they’re up to.
I continue on, and suddenly hear heady yowling off in the woods behind me.
Climax!
As I often say to my dog: “Ya never know whatcha might see, Big Meat-head.”

My wife of 41+ years is “Linda.” Like me she’s retired, but she works part-time at the West Bloomfield post-office. (We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western N.Y.)

Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s almost four, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. She’s very high-energy, and very much a hunter.

“The so-called elitist country-club” is nearby Boughton (“BOW-tin” as in “ow”) Park, where I run and 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.

RE: “Marcy, it’s everywhere!” —“Marcy” is my number-one Ne’er-do-Well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. A picture of her is in this blog at Conclave of Ne’er-do-Wells. At one time she asked how I managed to dredge up so much insane material to write up, and I responded “Marcy, it’s everywhere!”

Every dog I’ve ever owned I’ve called “Big Meat-head.” —They like eating meat.