GoDaddy Stats for Putting it on the Line

A friend of mine recently was telling how his website had, I can’t recall exactly, around 700 visitors over a three day period. It was one of his bigger spikes and was related to a something new he added related to a grilling food. He was bragging a bit to me.

He knows I have this website. The two of us have always been a bit competitive. Well, a lot competitive. He’s a great friend.

I told him, “Wow, that seems like a lot,” then held my comments. Rather, I mostly held my comments. (Thanks for reading, y’all)

Daily and monthly stats for this website

Weighted Down to Practice 3D

Walking out to the 3D range this morning, Brenda was watching me go from our front porch. She said, “You are really weighted down.” As usual, she was right.

Going out to the range means carrying a lot of gear. Aside from the standard stuff – bow, arrows, binoculars, release, quiver – this time of year, living in a swampy area, there the need for a Thermacell and a pistol.

That little shed in the background is getting new paint in a week or so. Red with white trim. (The  antenna is connected to a ham radio HF rig, AE4PG)

Sure, you may be an expert archer and consider any poisonous reptile a target, not me. In my experience when crossing paths with a water moccasin my quiver has been empty and my bow was not in hand.

It was long practice today, nothing under 35 yards, This coyote is seen at 40 yards.

There’s a more practical side, if a snake can kill me I want to be able to kill it first and a firearm, even a small 380, beats an arrow. Even so, I’m hiking around the 3D range with 17-inch snake boots.

There are new tracks everyday

Aside from the snakes and mosquitoes, for which precautions can be taken, the range is beautiful. Spending 2 to 6 hours a day there practicing is very relaxing. Granted, it is a lot of work to manage this range, but it is worth it.

Growing wild

I may have to gear up and load up to spend time in the woods but it’s a worthwhile effort and time enjoyed.

Pictures are Worth a Lot of Words

Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words.  There was no way to share this Memorial Day Weekend here in so few words. So, pictures may help explain a fun three days.

The weekend started and finished with archery. In the middle we took a couple of long boat trips with a pause for dinner with friends.

The weekend started off with a North Carolina ASA State Championship qualifier at Roanoke Archery in Plymouth, NC.
After the 3D shoot in Plymouth, Brenda and I decided to take a nice long boat trip. We left from our dock in the Little River. The red arrows on this map are not the Little River. Those are the Perquimans and North Rivers. Little River is west of the Perquimans. The trip was similar to the red lines – only different. We crossed the Albemarle Sound to Alligator River. That’s around 16 miles, each way, from our Dock.
The Albemarle Sound isn’t deep, rarely over 20 feet. But, it is a large body of water.
These old pilings are a good land mark and perch for sea birds.
When we make long trips in our Carolina Skiff, I use the 1/3 rule: 1/3 of my tank of gas to get to the destination, 1/3 for the return and a 1/3 in reserve.
We gave this big fella lots of open space.
Pocosin National Wildlife Refuge on the oppose side of the Sound from where we live.
On Monday we went in the opposite direction, away form the Sound, boating into swampy areas.
This is one large sail boat to have on a shallow River. Little River is not deep, only around 12 feet in the main channel. Get out of that and a sailboat can quickly get stuck.
This Osprey is probably covering up babies
The bird kept a close eye on us as we passed
Some of these little creeks are too tight for a Skiff, but are excellent in a kayak
I’d rather pass a water moccasin while in my boat versus a kayak. I’ve passed them in both.
A rare turtle that didn’t slide back into the water as we slowly motored past. Going slowly is critical to avoid logs.
The finish of the weekend shooting my Carl, a friend that had come down to his vacation home for the holiday.

I Ran, I Cycled, I Shot, and Then I Napped

Over the past week or so I’ve changed my training routine. It’s good to change your training around. Today, I added another change.

What I’d changed was to go cycling to first in the morning rather than running. I had been running to start the morning being joined by my running partner, River, a Labrador retriever. What was obvious, River was not happy with the difference.

Of course, I changed riding times – I put new tape on these handlebars. Couldn’t wait to go ride. Note the water in the yard. It has been raining a lot.

So, I changed again, adding a run with River, before cycling. River seemed to approve of this modification. We ran, returned home where I swapped over to a bike. This manner of exercise is fine with me.

River likes morning runs and meeting up with her friend Coco.

After the running and riding I moved on to archery practice. Rather than shoot 3D first and leave 50 meter for the afternoon, I shot 50 meters first. This too seemed just fine.

This paper has withstood a decent amount of rain.

At 50-meters, I shot one warm-up end of 6 before shooting another 72 arrows. I was getting pretty hungry before I finished.

Yep, this sometimes happens. You get what you pay for and this was inexpensive.

The whole process started around 0730. It was completed around noon. I’d had breakfast around 0650. Breakfast was a freshly blended fruit and yogurt smoothie. Smoothies taste good, but they do not last. Noon meant lunch – a barbeque sandwich with Cole slaw and ice tea to drink – and I was ready for it.

This sandwich speaks for itself.

After four and half hours of exercise and a high calorie lunch, it was time to enjoy a short nap. This is my typical routine. Train in the morning, have lunch, take a short nap (less that 45 minutes), then work into the afternoon schedule.

There’s a thunderstorm and pouring rain at the moment, so as refreshed and ready to start the afternoon training plan, things might get put on hold.

The “Selfie”

There are not many photographs of me on this website. There are a lot of pictures. I take them. At times, I think I’d like a picture of me to post. Proof I was really there where ever there might have been.

Me riding a bike – taken by the author

I’ve tried to take them, that is I’ve tried to take a selfie. Those turn out even worse than pictures someone else has snapped of me.

I like pictures of me almost as much as I enjoy hearing a recording of my own voice. “Do I really sound like that?”

The art of the selfie eludes me. I’ve studied many individuals’ memorializations of themselves in an attempt to learn how to take a better selfie. Mostly, it seems that people pucker their lips imitating a gold fish or perhaps it’s a charade to imply the need for a straw. It’s hard to tell. I wonder if they practice beforehand, snapping selfie after selfie keeping the one they finally decide is just right.

Me on the CompuTrainer, photo by same

Once I was on a ride and wanted a photograph of me on the bike. Passing over a bridge I noticed two boys fishing and waved. They returned the gesture.  It was a Thursday and during school hours. It wasn’t an official holiday and I suspected their interpretation of the class calendar was uniquely their own.

I made a u-turn and asked them to take a picture of me on the bike. They were all too happy, relieved that my questions went no further, and consented. Their photography skills were on par with their success as fishermen.

Compliments from out of school fishermen

At a recent 3D shoot I asked a friend of mine to take a picture of me for this site. I suggested he photograph me from the back, I feared someone might misinterpret and send me a straw.

Taken by Dr. Angelo T.

Turn the TV Off, Stop that Video Game and Go Play Outside

I often write about stuff I do outside. That’s because I am outside a lot. We have a nice home but not so great as to keep me indoors. Outside, for me is where the action is.

I find it amazing when I look at the activities of others how it is that so much of those actions involve indoor play. The play is not so much the physical type unless finger movements are considered exercise. Playing a video game while sitting on a couch is not my idea of sport.

In the newspaper today there was an advertisement for a bed. The bed could be elevated at the head and the knees could be propped up. The newspaper ad promoted this comfortable position for binge television watching. A bed specifically marketed for people to remain in it for extended TV show viewing. Seriously?

How did the bed company come up with this market segment?  Did information gained from intensive focus group questioning reveal a significant segment of their potential customers are so lazy they’d rather not bother getting out of bed to watch TV?

It is no wonder that 2 out of 3 US adults are overweight or obese. Among children ages 6 to 19 one third are overweight or obese. (1,2)

Archery isn’t what I’d call a sport where cardiovascular fitness is rampant. Still, rather than sitting around for hours on end getting to a range an hour of more a day is a lot better than spending the same amount of time exercising fingers or watching TV.

Reference:

[1] Flegal KM, Carroll MD, Kit BK, Ogden CL. Prevalence of obesity and trends in the distribution of body mass index among US adults, 1999–2010. Journal of the American Medical Association. 2012; 307(5):491–97. Available online: jama.jamanetwork.com/

[2] Ogden CL, Carroll MD, Kit BK, Flegal KM. Prevalence of obesity and trends in body mass index among US children and adolescents, 1999–2010. Journal of the American Medical Association. 2012; 307(5):483–90. Available online: jama.jamanetwork.com/

Don’t Do What You Did 37 Years Ago!

“I’m going for a quick ride, “I told Brenda as I headed out the door this morning. Her response, “Don’t do what you did 37 years ago!” She wasn’t referring to me marrying her, which I did 37 years ago.

The warning was about an incident 37 years ago, almost to the day. Actually, it was 37 years and one day ago. It was the day after we were married and still Honeymooning on Hilton Head Island, where we lived.

We spent our Honeymoon night at the Hilton Hotel. Then, we checked out and went to our home at Palmetto Bay.

On that day, the day after getting married, we decided to take in an afternoon movie. We didn’t have a newspaper and there was no Internet, so we didn’t know what was showing. Rather than drive the car I planned to make the trip to see what was playing on my bicycle. I felt like I needed to get a few miles in and the ride would be nice. It would only take about 30 minutes. I said to her, “I’m going for a quick ride.”

Twenty-five minutes later I was making the last turn on my way from the theater. It was a sharp turn, and I wanted to sprint out of it. As I got up over my handlebars jumping into the turn, my front tire rolled off the rim. I went down hard.

The next conscious memory I have of the occasion was a woman’s voice, coming from over me, saying, “He’s really hurt.” I was really hurt. The impact knocked me out. I have no idea of how long I laid there, fortunately, it was not a busy road. Aside from knocking me out, the crash had taken a lot of skin off my face. Talk about a face plant.

The women over me wasn’t alone, her boyfriend or husband was with her. He wanted to leave me there, so an argument ensued. Eventually, she offered to drive me to where I needed to go, like a hospital. I said no, I could make it home; I remember the conversation clearly, but the image of the couple, to this day, remains hazy.

There was no riding the bike; the tire was off the rim. It didn’t matter, I didn’t even try. I don’t remember walking back to Brenda. One minute I was carrying on a conversation with a women’s voice, then I was knocking on our front door. I held the handle so she couldn’t open the door. When I felt her pull the doorknob I resisted and said, “Don’t get alarmed, I’m hurt.”

My request somewhat failed. As yet, I hadn’t seen my face or how much of it was missing. A quick look in the mirror, and we were on our way to Hilton Head Hospital.

I worked at the hospital. When one of the ER nurses saw me, and knowing I was on my honeymoon, I received a pretty severe scolding. After some clicking of tongues and wagging of fingers, they sent the nursing supervisor to the ER to clean me up. She was a retired, Army nurse a bit hard-core. Naturally, she too started in with a fresh scolding this time with more colorful language. She took no pity as she scoured debris from my facial wounds. With all sincerity, I promise you it really hurt. I was too dazed to make any recommendation, like lavaging with 2% lidocaine first. I mentioned this to her a year or so later. She smiled with true Nightingale countenance and admitted it had crossed her mind.

After she’d imparted me my lesson it seemed Nurse Rachet was done. Nope, my face needed to be wrapped. Of course it did, flies on a road were eating the half that was left behind. The only way to manage the wrapping of gauzes was practically theatrical. On completion, from my upper neck just below my mandible, to the peak of my cranium, I was decked out in a Halloween mummy mask. My mouth, nose and eyes were all that remained un-bandaged.

You can be assured, Brenda was not pleased. She got over being upset once her mind was made up that this little set back wasn’t going to ruin our beach week. The very next day we were lounging poolside at the Hilton and on the beach. She arranged a small tent made from a beach towel to conceal my B rated horror movie get up.

Not wanting to be more of an early marriage disappointment, my guess I would provide more excitement as the years passed, I suffered quietly while my head baked in the heat.

During our 37 years of marriage, I have been sick once. Throughout those decades I raced bicycles then turned to triathlons. One illness, and well I don’t recall for sure, but a lot of road rash. We love to enterain and tell stories of me sticking to the sheets due to overnight dry ooze from seeping wounds.

My personal favorite was when I crashed in Pittsburgh cutting a small artery. What an impression it made squirting blood. But, that’s another story.

Thirty-seven years – I promised Brenda life with me would not be boring. Amazingly, Brenda is still my wife; lesser wives might not have had the patience or stomach. (Funny, that reminds me of the time she fainted when I had an arterial line put in as part of a research project – that’s another good story.) I suppose Brenda is a curious person. She seems be always be waiting, at times on edge, to see what will happen next.

I don’t remember what was playing at the movies that day 37 years ago. We never made it.

Addendum:

Three important things I’ve learned from crashing on a bicycle:

  • If possible, look for a soft place to land – hit there.
  • When you hit – roll.
  • When crashing, always fall away from traffic

“Let us be thankful for the fools; but for them the rest of us could not succeed.” M. Twain.

“Fred”

I have a friend named Fred. This is not about him.

“Fred” is a cycling term for a rider that is essentially a poseur. Poseur is a French term. A poseur is a person who attempts to impress others by assuming or affecting a manner, degree of elegance, etc., other than his or her true one.

The French really are into bicycle racing. They have a big race that tours their country every year. The French can pick out a poseur in cycling in a heartbeat. Americans can do the same, but we’re not going so pronounce poseur correctly, so using American ingenuity we call the poseur in US cycling, “Fred.”

There are all sorts of theories how we Americans came up with “Fred.” Some claim there was actually a cyclist named “Fred” that dressed a little goofy – not to serious cycling standards.  Other claim “Fred” was a guy from Athens, Georgia who was a toured around on his bicycle complete with camping gear.  The Georgia “Fred” would enter bicycle competitions on this touring bicycle, camping gear loaded, and it was not unusual for this Southerner to beat all other ‘proper’ cyclists. Really, I have no idea how “Fred” came into cycling lingo, but I’m pretty sure ‘poseur’ is a word of extreme rarity south of the Mason-Dixon.

The female equivalent of “Fred” is a “Doris.” I don’t know anyone named Doris, but I have met her, given name unknown, on a bicycle.

We can probably find a “Fred” in every sport. I don’t know for certain, so I am leaving room for doubt. That’s not to imply that a “Fred” is necessarily a bad person. The “Fred’s” I’ve known were truly in love with their sport. They’re problem stems from a hyper-inflated self-image of themselves within their beloved sport.

All athletes, from the weekend warrior to the top dollar professional, have an ego. How that ego manifests is as different as personalities. In my mind, there will one day be songs sung about my sporting achievements. I do have restraint and common sense so such thoughts are never uttered out loud.  Aside from this admission of dreamt grandeur, I remain hopeful of a win now and then. But, this is not an essay on the psychology of the sportsman or sportswoman. This is devoted to a “Fred” I recently encountered.

The “Fred” to whom I refer is a sportsman. He’s an outdoor enthusiast. He has a very popular website where he writes about his adventures in the wilderness.

Since I am always searching for an angle or knowledge on how to better run this website, I read his pages and viewed his photography. The photography caused me to shut down for a second.

The photograph that initially stopped me was that of a truck that held two kayaks on its roof. The vehicle and boats were parked in a field of wheat overlooking a small cow pond. The colors were awesome. The pristine 2017 model truck and kayaks all seemed to have come directly off the showroom floor.

My first thought was, “Why would anyone take a kayak to this dinky little cow pond?” My second thought, “Wow, this guy really keeps his stuff clean and shinny.”

I clicked through more photographs and pages. The art work was way better than anything I’ve got here. (To avoid shame, there are no photographs included with this writing. Plus, I don’t have any that apply.)

The more I studied the more I began to sense a foul. The site was spectacular. It included professional grade pictures, incredible movie style videos, and lots of items for purchase.

Not only that there were loads of big of advertisers. You can’t get through a page without an ad popping up. Throughout all of this high quality production was the central figure. The hunter, archer, athlete, runner, mountain biker, rifleman, and kayaker. As I gazed at his manly image I thought, “Is this guy wearing make-up?” And, “He looks kind of soft.” Then, “How can anyone that describes that much work and exercise appear so fragile?”

Sure, looks can be deceiving. I was once passed by a runner at the end of a marathon whose looks versus speed would have fooled me had I not been witness.  She was maybe 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighted an easy 165 pounds.  To make this more incredible, particular to this 26.2 mile run, it was the final leg of the Louisville Ironman. To this day I wonder whether it was real or an hallucination. (It was real.  My friends were watching the event.  Since we were near the finish line when she passed me – I stopped as she passed, no way was I getting into a sprint across the finish with her – and my friends watched it all.  The event has yet to fade from their memories. At least they ensure I won’t forget. This happened nearly a decade ago.)

Back to the mega-man’s website: One photo, a deceptive picture, that was particularly revealing was a mountain bike-racing photo. Our manly man is sprinting on a downhill curve, taking a risk that could lead to a crash. I know, too many times trying to make such a cut I crashed. (I always preferred going uphill. It you fall going up it’s not so bad.) What was most puzzling, the mountain bike racer’s face was cropped out of the photo. Why would our champion post a photo of himself without his head? What was offered for viewing was the phenotype of a whippet as an athlete. The webpage’s central figure is a big fellow, not a whippet.

Of the fully figured pictures there’s not a smudge of dirt on anything or anyone. The kayaks all appear waxed and polished. Not one of my seven boats would have matched his in a beauty contest. Then, I looked at the truck more closely. Incredible, brand new, spotless even when supposedly driven off-road and parked. Heck, the tires, yes there is a close-up to promote the tires, were dirt free.

Every image, every product all seemed pictured at their very best. The lighting, the settings, the framing. Good Lord, my adventures pale by photographic comparison.

There were even posts on fitness and a video of this champion working out on a stair climber. The videoed stepper captured during a workout without concern for sweat, none being broken or seen to dissuade a potential candidate from exercise.

How does this giant among men perform such feats? Fish hooked and landed the size of small torpedoes. Deer stalked, photographed at arm’s length and then shown dead (from a distance) all without the mussing of a hair. Trucks, kayaks, bows, guns, rods and reels, camo clothing, gadgets and widgets all pristine (and all for sale via a simple click) despite eons of written about use.

Not only does this demigod hunt and kill wild game he is a chef of acclaim. Don’t believe me, just read his posts. And by all mean use your credit card and order his cooking gear immediately.  Link attached for selection and transaction.

I venture to guess the impression is only skin deep. The superman can certainly perform some of the marvels depicted on the webpage. But, no he is no expert at any of them. In fact, I’d go out on a limb and suggest he is a rank-less amateur. Yet, he is part of a machine that seeks revenue through the marketing of an imagine, an image someone hopes you want. To get it they pray you’ll buy their products that are displayed on the webpage and in company brochures.

The e-hero is “Fred.” He’s perfect for the role, a model poseur. I for one would never be that guy, without substance pay. Until that time, should you read the writing here you’ll read about real activities that get you dirty, sweaty and occasionally hurt. You’ll also view second-rate photography mostly captured using a phone.* Unless, I forget the phone (or my back-up $79.00 camera; currently missing in action) then all you will receive is a story.

One last comment on this “Fred”:

“Fred” is careful not to list an address on the website. But, “Fred’s” electronic fingerprint is extensive. It took only a few minutes to learn he lives in a major city! In fact one of the larger cities in the US. Most of the pictures would mean a day trip to capture.  Somehow, I don’t see “Fred” as a fellow that would fare well in a wild place. But, truly his pictures and computer skills are fantastic. Certainly, he has tricked a lot of people. That trick is paying well for “Fred.” So, good for “Fred.” (Perhaps, I should enroll in a few computer skills classes.)

“Let us be thankful for the fools; but for them the rest of us could not succeed.” M. Twain.

(*) The phone readily revealed and marketed here if only the company paid a fee.

Playing and Practice on the Wild Side

Sunrise on the river

The past few days have been a bustle of cycling, running and shooting. The weather, despite ever-present wind, has been excellent. Wind impedes cycling in one direction and then repeats the trick in the reverse direction. You’d think there would be a tailwind. Running with the wind in your face may slow faster runners down a tad. A slower paced runner seems unaffected by an equivalent blowing resistance. The leaves that now cover trees suggests the wind across the 3D and the 50-meter range will be less pronounced. Outdoors here means, for most days, playing in the wind.

“Boat Ramp Road” is a spot to pause during a ride. The title of this road hopefully was not a mental taxation for the creators.

Yesterday, Brenda and I planned to head out in the boat for a cruise between archery practices. Just as we walked out to the dock we observed the waves picking up. Before we got the boat off the lift there were white caps across the water’s surface. Cursing in a Carolina Skill over a river capped in white is a rough trip. We postponed that adventure.

Our adventure may be have been put on hold but there is a bass tournament underway in the Little River where we live. We watched a boatload of anglers, its passengers slamming across the water, heading out for more casting. They bounced along for about 500 yards before getting smart, or battered the right amount for common sense to emerge, and returned to port.

This little fella was enjoying the warm afternoon

Shooting has been just fine in the spring woods. The first few 3D targets are a bit exposed to wind but certainly not like they were in the leafless months. The main drawbacks this time of the year are snakes and mosquitos.

This is why I was sweeping leaves that had gathered under an outside storage area

Our area of the coast is swampy. Ideal for both the problems: snakes and mosquitos. There is a third annoyance, poison ivy, which a watchful eye can avoid.

Snakes mostly try to evade River, my snake hunting lab, and me. River joins me in the woods and is vigilant in her sniffing for the slithering outlaws. She’s pretty good at finding snakes. She did walk right past a copperhead. I stopped as we approached it seeing it coiled to strike.   Its hostility terminated with a lead induced amputation its head.

Copperheads are nice looking snakes. But, they will bite you which leads to no good.

Most of the snakes we meet aren’t a problem and prefer to let us alone. In that respect, we leave them alone as well, taking a live and let live stance on the encounter. The snakes that care little for avoidance are either poisonous or don’t give way because they’re so large they think nobody will mess with them. We don’t mess with the non-poisonous variety of serpent irrespective of it size. Still there are plenty of the lethal reptiles to warrant keeping eyes constantly examining the ground. There is no way a sane person would head back to those boggy ranges without snake boots.

This big ole snake could have cared less that I was watching

Already the swamp is minus one copperhead and three water moccasins. One of the chunky vipers escaped after I shot at it with my Ruger 380 and missed. I actually missed it twice. My neighbor, Jimmy, who is competitive with a pistol, would not have missed. He shots them with a little 22. I need a modest bit more lead to compensate my non-archery aim. Even so there’s that one that got away despite the larger caliber projectile. As my pistol friend said, “You’ll see him, again.”

Keeping an eye to the ground uncovers all sorts of critters
Typically how things are when walking up on legless trouble

I could probably do as good hitting snakes with an arrow as with a bullet should the circumstance arise. The operative adverb being probably and thus far there’s been no opportunity for an archer’s test. I’ve yet to stroll up on a snake when I wasn’t walking to pull arrows.

Look over every log before putting a foot down

A firearm does make me feel a bit more certain as opposed to shooting an arrow angled down at close range. In addition, I would rather not fire arrows that will, whether hitting the mark of not, end up in stuck in the ground.

Care is taken not to step on these little ones

Mosquitos, those blood-sucking pests, are swarming in clouds so thick that occasionally I have to letdown on a shot to swat them away to see. Yes, I have an operating Thermacell hanging on my quiver’s belt and am drenched with bug spray when I’m shooting in this swamp. Without those chemicals surrounding me in a cloud and soaked onto my skin there is a chance the bugs would harvest me whole.

Knee high Swiftwick sports compression socks are perfect for 17-inch snake boots

Despite the somewhat primitive environment where I practice it is fun to be outdoors in the wooded wetland. You just have to be careful where you step, be willing to reek of bug spray, and watch where you squat.

Back with the Pack

It’s been a week since heading out for a run along Deep Creek Road here in New Hope, North Carolina. In that absence I pounded red clay, gravel, and dust that covers Buckhead Road and the surrounding trails in Tignal, Georgia.

River, my lab, joins me on runs. In Georgia, there were plenty of new smells to entertain and satisfy canine olfactory curiosity. More than one fox trotted within sight to begin a chase with River, the fox never losing.

Deep Creek Road, here in New Hope is the main passage to our home as it dead ends into River Cove Lane the road where we live. A secondary passage to our house is by water and is often used by friends that live on the other side of Little River.

Deep Creek Road leads 3 miles to New Hope Road. From my front door to River Cove Lane then Deep Creek Road it is one tenth of a mile. The round trip to New Hope is an out and back 10K. Over those kilometers are veins of ditches and creeks. Those tributaries, natural or man-made, to larger bodies of water are dotted with dogs.

The dogs dotting the ditches and creeks are well known to River and me. Within a half of a mile into the run today we were joined by Coco, a lab, and a close and cherished friend. Shortly thereafter a third entered our pack.

The third was also a lab. We’ve met in the past. He’s young perhaps a two year old yellow lab. He’s been over to our house before. I know because I have him on a trail camera stealing a shoe. The photographed shoe in his mouth was the second stolen.

After the first went missing I installed the trail camera to capture for record if the criminal indeed returned to the scene. He did. There are no hard feelings and I denoted the shoes to the yellow furred thief. By now it and its mate certainly have been thoroughly chewed and buried for tenderization with future plans for more chewing.

The youngest lab and I have never been formally introduced so I do not know his name. He was last in and first out. The girls were a little rough on him.

I enjoy running with dogs. They seem to enjoy it, too. It’s good to be home and among my furry friends.