February 28, 2013 – Thursday

24 degrees/cloudy/breezy/light snow

Pentoga Road

It’ll be a short one today… we’ll be heading to the airport later and onto Andy and Mollie’s late this afternoon by way of Rhinlander, Wisconsin, Minneapolis, Minnesota, and our final destination, Houston, Texas. Andy and Mollie will pick us up and we’ll drive to their home in Leesville, Louisiana.

Sargie arrived home from work last night with last minute goodies for our trip. She presented me with my very own plastic pillbox; one of those that contains individual compartments labeled for each day of the week.

I remember, many years ago, when one of my grade school bands played a morning Christmas concert at the local senior community and were invited to stay for brunch after. I found an empty chair at a table with six residents. Each magically produced a labeled plastic box and before long was sorting through his allotted daily pile of pills explaining what malady each was used for. It became a shouting contest of gargantuan proportions as they attempted to talk over one another. All wore their pillboxes like badges of honor.

The last two days have been carbon copies of each other; mostly grading papers in the morning, taking a walk, then working on getting ready for the upcoming maple season during the late afternoon. Though warmer, the weather remains fairly miserable, breezy, damp, and cloudy, and in most cases seems much colder than what the thermometer is registering. It’s a good time to get out of Dodge for a few days.

I ventured into town and have been pricing stovepipe and other items needed for my maple boiler. I’m within a day’s worth of work to begin boiling and will finish next week after arriving back home.

I stopped at the animal shelter in Iron River yesterday and visited a wonderful pup, a bull mastiff by the name of Sarge. Tipping the scales at 110 pounds, I immediately fell in love with the big guy as he dropped his dolly long enough to roll over on his back in an effort to entice me to scratch his belly.

For sure, the owner of Sarge would never have to worry about unwanted intruders. One look at his beach ball-sized head and bulldog face would scare Satan back to Hell.

I asked how old Sarge was. The big guy’s seven years old; he’s getting up in years and I made the conscious decision that we wouldn’t become his owner. His hips are beginning to grow arthritic and it’s a matter of time before he’d have to be put down. I gave the old boy one final scratch on his belly and left.

Do I really want a dog? In getting one, we’d be opening ourselves up for heartbreak in the coming years. You learn to love them and they become a part of the family, then grow old and die. I’d already become attached to the big bull mastiff yesterday and felt as though I’d condemned him to death when I walked away.

But it would be nice to have a companion during the days, those hours when Sargie’s not here. I enjoy working with dogs, teaching them tricks and manners.

And when I’m away on overnight jaunts, hiking or visiting, and Sargie’s unable to accompany me, a good big ol’ dog would be good company for her.

I’d want a dog that’s young enough to accompany me on my daily strolls. We could have long protracted discussions about life.

What kind of dog? We had a boxer when I was young… too hyper. A black lab in college; too stubborn. Our fraternity had a St. Bernard… way cool and fun, but always too hot in the summer months. He later found a wonderful home with an Amish family and learned to pull young children in a cart. We had a beagle years ago; they follow their nose are liable to disappear permanently when on the trail of a rabbit or deer. Satch the golden retriever was almost perfect as was Brandi, the golden retriever. Both were great dogs and lived to ripe old ages. Someone dropped off Buddy the pit bull and he was part of our family for several years. A more polite, nicer pooch has ever been seen. For sure, he was the ultimate family protector and watch dog. My last was Casey the Jack Russell terrier. I’ve never seen a smarter dog. He knew 76 tricks, was cute and entertaining, but it was like living with a three-year-old; a piece of gristle with a heart beat, a living fart in a hot greased skillet. There’ll be no more Jack Russells in my life.

I can’t stand a misbehaved pooch and I’m not one to let a dog on the furniture or to have free roam over my home. They’re not humans, they’re dogs, man’s faithful companion.

If I get another dog, he’s going to be big and ugly. I want a companion that will walk the woods with me and lead me home if I get turned around, love Sargie to pieces, and be my best friend who can keep all the secrets I tell him.  

I’m going to get this uploaded and finish packing. I need to remember to turn off the water heater and turn the thermostat way down. The barn needs to be locked, the key’s taken from the Man Truck, the Blazer, and the snowmobile. So much to do, so little time. If only you had my life. 

After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…