What a day. Off to the park in the morning with Spot then to Wal-Marts (shame on me) later in the morning where I purchased four lovely short sleeve shirts for ten bucks a piece. You will find this hard to believe but they were NOT made in China! They were made in Bangladesh. I would sooner support child labourers in Bangladesh than I would child labourers China. If work was available for children in Canada I would buy local.
In the afternoon I took our car to Firestone at Scott & Vine where they changed my snows for regulars and changed my oil. From there I dropped the tires off at my daughter’s, picked up Spot from the Brockton, dashed up town and picked up granddaughter Jessica from work then we headed out to Charles Daley Park where we met my chum Pat with his dog Jackson. We weren't on the beach more than five minutes when the rain began. Spot was already soaked, having dashed into the lake as soon as he hit the beach. Jackson was busy peeing on everything that could or should be peed on.
The rain was just a sprinkle to begin with but soon became a cold downpour the likes which have not been seen since Noah floated off with two of every creature on earth on some magical, mystical, mythical voyage of survival. Why the man brought two spiders along is beyond me. I am glad he brought two dung beetles. Well, no matter what Noah did or did not bring, it was too late for us to bother turning back so we trekked on along the narrow spit of beach, heading to the far eastern end.
Amid the cold, slashing rain it was uplifting to get a historical report from Pat on every rock we came across that looked a little different than the several hundred thousand that we were walking on top of. As wet and uncomfortable as we were it was a delight to stand in the hurricane while Pat explained that ‘this rock here originated up in the great Canadian Shield and was deposited here about twenty thousand years ago.’ Thanks for that Pat but I think ‘in class’ would have been a better place for the lessons.
Jessica had to clear her eyes of mascara to get a real look at the various rocks, thus blackening her mittens which she was fortunate enough to have forgotten in her coat pocket from another one of our adventures a few chilly weeks ago.
Meanwhile the dogs were in their glory. Every single piece of driftwood had to be marked; every shrub standing over two inches in height had to be marked. Periodically they would come back from their explorations to make sure we were still there and, of course, see if one of us might have a cookie.
Spot, in his quest for adventure, stepped into the pond side of the spit only to find the bottom wasn’t where it should have been. A floundering bulldog is not exactly a vision of elegance in motion.
Thank God (or whatever) we reached the far end of the beach. Now, with no face to lose, we beat a hasty retreat along the water slashed sand, struggled up the long hill to the parking lot and the shelter of our vehicles. The dogs were soaked; I was wretched; Jessica looked like she had been pulled out of the lake but put on a brave face. Pat enjoyed the walk but was a little put out because he couldn't keep the joint going in the rain. "Next time we go on this walk I'll check the Weather Network," sez he to no one in particular. I was happy because I had found a bobber for my beach junk collection and Jessica found another perfect rock for me to use as a canvas.
Then off home we went. Ahhhhh, the comfy smell of wet dog. . . .
In the afternoon I took our car to Firestone at Scott & Vine where they changed my snows for regulars and changed my oil. From there I dropped the tires off at my daughter’s, picked up Spot from the Brockton, dashed up town and picked up granddaughter Jessica from work then we headed out to Charles Daley Park where we met my chum Pat with his dog Jackson. We weren't on the beach more than five minutes when the rain began. Spot was already soaked, having dashed into the lake as soon as he hit the beach. Jackson was busy peeing on everything that could or should be peed on.
The rain was just a sprinkle to begin with but soon became a cold downpour the likes which have not been seen since Noah floated off with two of every creature on earth on some magical, mystical, mythical voyage of survival. Why the man brought two spiders along is beyond me. I am glad he brought two dung beetles. Well, no matter what Noah did or did not bring, it was too late for us to bother turning back so we trekked on along the narrow spit of beach, heading to the far eastern end.
Amid the cold, slashing rain it was uplifting to get a historical report from Pat on every rock we came across that looked a little different than the several hundred thousand that we were walking on top of. As wet and uncomfortable as we were it was a delight to stand in the hurricane while Pat explained that ‘this rock here originated up in the great Canadian Shield and was deposited here about twenty thousand years ago.’ Thanks for that Pat but I think ‘in class’ would have been a better place for the lessons.
Jessica had to clear her eyes of mascara to get a real look at the various rocks, thus blackening her mittens which she was fortunate enough to have forgotten in her coat pocket from another one of our adventures a few chilly weeks ago.
Meanwhile the dogs were in their glory. Every single piece of driftwood had to be marked; every shrub standing over two inches in height had to be marked. Periodically they would come back from their explorations to make sure we were still there and, of course, see if one of us might have a cookie.
Spot, in his quest for adventure, stepped into the pond side of the spit only to find the bottom wasn’t where it should have been. A floundering bulldog is not exactly a vision of elegance in motion.
Thank God (or whatever) we reached the far end of the beach. Now, with no face to lose, we beat a hasty retreat along the water slashed sand, struggled up the long hill to the parking lot and the shelter of our vehicles. The dogs were soaked; I was wretched; Jessica looked like she had been pulled out of the lake but put on a brave face. Pat enjoyed the walk but was a little put out because he couldn't keep the joint going in the rain. "Next time we go on this walk I'll check the Weather Network," sez he to no one in particular. I was happy because I had found a bobber for my beach junk collection and Jessica found another perfect rock for me to use as a canvas.
Then off home we went. Ahhhhh, the comfy smell of wet dog. . . .
Jim is right. There is nothing better for the soul than a walk in the driving rain with a beautiful female, two canine friends, two old friends and a bag of good pot. A short geology lesson is a bonus! Life is good.
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