Only dogs go camping
One sure sign that I’m at home here is the constant stream of familiar faces.
I headed into the grocery store this morning, in order to stock up on cheese, fresh fruits and cinnamon rolls (my idea of a balanced diet). Over by the salads, there were my aunt and uncle, acting like they belonged there. Out in the corridor by the pharmacy, another acquaintance hollered me over for a quick chat and catchup. That never happens during the winter months.
Late in the afternoon, we finally made it to St. Peter’s for a fine meal at Rick’s Fish And Chips. The place gets busier every year. I’m not used to waiting for a table… anyhow, who comes by but a family that has known me my whole life. Really. And not my family, either.
Another quick chat and catchup, before the fish got cold. That’s one of the downsides of an outdoor table; the breeze is very efficient at removing caloric content from food… or is it thermal? We used to burn stuff in a calorimeter back in high school, so I do get confused on details.
This evening, we joined in a community campfire. Not my usual thing, but the invitation was heartfelt, and there were dogs in need of TLC. I’ve adopted several of the campground hound population.
Funny thing: people don’t take other pets camping. Nary a cat, or a rat, or a budgie or a goldfish to be seen. In contrast, dogs are everywhere, and each brings a back story and a personality. Maybe I can produce/direct a movie about the characters that add to the camping experience.
