November 22, 2014 - Saturday

28 degrees/cloudy/breezy
Pentoga Road

Compared to the below zero and single number low temperatures of these past two weeks, this morning seems like a heatwave. I let Brutus out the door to do his morning duties and he promptly laid down on the deck to enjoy the balmy temperatures. 

Initially, I thought something was wrong, but discovered he simply wanted to soak up the warmth and heat that the 28 degree temperature offers. If I had a pair of bulldog Speedos, that boy would have been wearing them. 

I like to think we've experienced winter and spring is imminent. After all, the forecast high for Sunday is 40 degrees accompanied by rain. But then I see that the lows next week are heading back into the single numbers with highs in the twenties. Dang, it's just a burp in the continuing cold spell. Oh well, we'll enjoy the day or two of tropical temperatures and fill up the wood box in preparation of the continuing cold, dark, days to come.

Friday was cold and windy. After arriving home from Iron Mountain, I spent the morning watching a movie, grading papers, and sipping coffee. I'd decided to boycott the outdoors until the thermometer registered at least fifteen degrees.

When I awakened from my nap at 1 PM after lunch, I am retired after all, I decided to go fishing. Another inch has formed on the lake making the total ice thickness six inches, more than enough for safe angling.

I'm not sure where the fish are; certainly not in their usual winter places, but then, why would they be? It's a full six weeks earlier than normal. As I told Andy last night, when we get serious about fishing after Thanksgiving (he's staying after for a while) we'll have to start exploring around the lake and finding where the fish are holed up. 

I caught one bass, not a large one by any means, but at least I wasn't skunked.



I was home before dark and carried in wood, but mostly, Brutus and I played "head." Its our newest man/dog game. I get on all fours and forehead to forehead, we push each other. He growls and drools and acts mean. I laugh and taunt him as he digs in with all fours and throws his 125 lbs behind his bushel basket-sized noggin. We don't butt heads, we simply push. 



He always wins, but then he cheats. Failing to move me off my hands and knees, he flails me with his foot-long tongue across my face until I begin to laugh and lose my composure. The pup quickly gets his head under my midsection, flips me over, and claims victory by sitting in the middle of my belly for the world to see. 



Sargie was home early last night armed with all the ingredients to make French Meat Pies. It's become a tradition that she and Macrea make them around this time of the year to freeze for the coming months. We send as many home with him as he can store and freeze the rest. 

Sargie opens today and hopefully, will be home early tonight. I think I'll change into my swim trunks and work on the fish shack and my tans lines at the same time. I notice they are beginning to fade over my finely toned and sculpted body; getting lost in the folds and rolls.  

Oh, I see it's supposed to be cloudy and drizzly all day. Never mind. I'll have to be content wearing Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt while cooking shrimp on the barbi. I'll have to find the tan lines among the folds and rolls next spring.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...