Progress Report

Crashed early last night. The bed Boss had purchased from Orvis looking pretty good. Up came a wind, which brought scents of raccoons and, down the block, either a coyote or worse.

Wind wrenched one of the side doors open, allowing a dog an opportunity to check the area. In a moment or two, I'm on to something. Something powerful. Couldn't help it, I sounded my hunting call. I know, I know. It's early morning and I should be more circumspect. The C's who live next door are particularly grouchy about hunting. They don't mind power saws or leaf blowers, but that is another matter.

I soon catch a flashing light down the drive toward Hot Springs Road, then the crunch of movement through the wind-blown leaves. Then I get a whiff. Oh,man! It is Boss. He is not particularly well dressed for two thirty of a cold, windy morning. He appears to be--oh, oh--he's in his sleepy suit, which is to say undies and his UCLA Basketball t-shirt. You know, old school tie, Final Four and all. No boots or even shoes. Not like him.

I head over to greet him, and I think he is beginning to learn. "Dragons, right?" he says.

Just to be sure, I brush against him to let him know this really was work, not some excuse to get out on the town and raise hell.

"Dragons for sure," he says, starting back toward the house

I have the distinct impression it is a good thing for me to follow him. Screw the new gopher hole and the fresh gopher scent.

We are homeward bound. I didn't really smell any dragons, but if Boss wants to think dragons, what's the harm?