From Lemons to Potatoes

Lola (the dog), or should I say, Lola the Hairy Food Slut, was up around 4:45 AM this morning, WAY before my 5:20 alarm, wanting food. She was denied, but once you hear a, shall we say, “robustly built” bulldog rambling down the steps like a herd of cattle to do whatever a hungry bulldog does alone in a dark living room, you never really fall back to sleep. However, I stayed in bed just to prove a point—I will not be bullied by my bulldog!!

When I did finally get up at 5:20, Lola excitedly chased me around the kitchen and then ran outside into the dark and cold to do her business, completely oblivious to the two deer standing roughly 20 yards away from her. This was on the heels of a 25-minute growling stare down with a large block of suet my neighbor had put in his yard for the critters two days ago. Deer? Who cares! Block of suet? I’LL KILL YOU DEAD!! Or at least relentlessly growl from a distance, while looking out the door window, safely inside my human’s house.

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Getting Stuffed

My “rest” weekend has been pretty crap due to the dreaded International Break and a lack of quality footy on TV. And avoiding any woodsy photo-creeps due to trigger-happy deer hunters looking for a kill. I’ll give ’em until Monday, but then I’ll be rolling the dice that none of their bullets find their way into the park.

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Seven Miles & Some Pics

I was back on the trails at 7:03 AM on Tuesday to lumber out another loop of woodsy walking while doing my best to fill my camera’s SD card with nature nubbins and critter pics.

The morning was damp and humid under a slate grey sky that does its best to monkey with my shots and force me to over-familiarize myself with Lightroom’s shadow slider.

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The Brain, Am I right?

Late in March 2024, I was enduring a spell of multiple injuries to my back, knee, and both feet due to age, overuse, and an accident while caring for Jake (the dog).

I was really struggling, and lumbering was super painful. So, after much nervousness, anxiety, and bouts of “what the fuck is wrong with my brain?” I stuffed myself into some bike kit, got on board my trainer in the basement, and rode a bike for the first time in 2 years, 4 months, and 26 days. It was pretty OK, and I would do it again a few more times during my recovery.

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