Springtime
Spring has arrived, here in Central New York, which means that when I walk the dogs I can listen to the peepers, out in the wetter areas (like
all proper writers, I own several dogs – noble beasts with a dignified bearing just waiting to appear on a book jacket). Unfortunately, the dogs are both fine trackers, and they’ve been finding a lot of things that have been buried under the snowpack for four months. So it is that at least once per walk I have to lunge forward and dig some vile object like an old chunk of groundhog corpse out of one of their mouths. Such are the perils of dog ownership in these parts, but I like to think it toughens me up. Unfortunately, my time walking dogs is when I’m supposed to be coming up with clever plot ideas or character names, and I’d prefer to be in a state of quiet contemplation rather than paranoid alertness. I’m afraid my daily wordcount has suffered.