I guess this is the week of adventures
with the Wonder Pooch. Yesterday started out normal, if it was inundated with
rain. After a frosty start this semi-winter once again relinquished its hold
and we entered another spring like stage. This is not a complaint because if
this has been snow it would have been measured in feet. I snuck away to see a
movie and then returned home for some quality couch time with the Wonder Pooch.
The only thing I gleaned from watching the news was we would be getting some heavy
rain and winds overnight.
I thought nothing of it and slept, uncharacteristically,
through the storm, which later evidence would show was a fairly powerful thunderstorm.
Those who’ve read Frail Deeds in the past know that Buddy is not a huge fan of
thunderstorms. He enters a panic zone that cannot be quelled by any remedy
(believe me – we’ve tried them all). The evidence I spoke of awaited me when I
came downstairs for my normal morning routine. It started off strangely because
there was no Buddy panting at the cellar door impatient with the amount of time
it was taking me to descend into the cellar to feed him. My fears were realized
when I opened the door and found the carpet at the bottom of the steps and my
wife’s collection of unused winter boots strewn about. I shuddered to think
what awaited me downstairs. Buddy no longer sleeps in his cage at night, we bought
a comfortable bed and he has the entire cellar to his own.
That was a problem when the unknown thunderstorm
passed through. I found the comfortable bed improbably relocated to the top of the
stack of Christmas decorations. Buddy tries to burrow during storms and he
evidently had a banner night with that activity. As near as I can figure, using
my acute CSI skills, he delved underneath a low rack to get under the stairs
and then over some mattresses before arriving at the barriers I constructed to prevent
him from reaching the furniture we have in storage. The barriers held but he
found a new access point by somehow climbing over a bookcase to reach the center
of the stored furniture and then tunneled down. While I was staring open
mouthed at the devastation and commenting on his lineage in less than
flattering manner, Buddy’s head popped out of his sanctuary and he sheepishly climbed
down from his hidey hole. I just couldn’t get mad at him, he can’t help himself.
I was a little late into work today after commencing rebuilding efforts in the
basement. I’ll have to improve my barrier skills but I think anything short of
a minefield is just wasted effort.
The movie I went to see was The Witch.
Scary as hell in a very dour manner; a lot of the dialogue, authentic to early
1600’s New England, was unintelligible as this family seemed to communicate
through mumbling. However this movie is all about texture and while it would
have been helpful to understand what the actors were saying, it wasn’t
critical. There was obvious, painstaking detail to the challenges of early colonial
life in America. An ardent Puritan takes his family
away from their established community to set up home at the edge of a large,
dark forest. This turns out to be a bad move, as the resident witch population
takes exception to their intrusion.
I thought this was going to be one of those
movies where they point out the fallacy and ignorance of religious fanaticism and
while there is that the movie definitely goes another, scarier way. I'm never going near a black goat again, ever. The last fifteen
minutes of the movie, where that scarier turn manifests itself, in spades, will
haunt me for a long time. Turns out, there really was something to fear in
those dark woods.
Some more samples of my daily photo fix
from California:
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