Maybe A Loud Woof?

 

         Old David Smail

He dreamed away his hours in school,

He sat with such an absent air,

The master reckoned him a fool,

And gave him up in dull despair.

When other lads were making hay

You'd find him loafing by the stream,

He'd take a book and slip away,

And just pretend to fish . . . and dream.

His brothers passed him to the race,

They climbed the hill and clutched the prize.

He did not seem to heed, his face

Was tranquil as the evening skies.

He lived apart, he spoke with few,

Abstractedly through life he went,

Oh, what he dreamed of no one knew,

And yet he seemed to be content.

At last beside his bed I stook.

"And is Life done so soon?" he sighed;

"It's been so rich, so full so good,

I've loved it all."  And so he died.

                 - Robert Service

I have a really savage cold.  I think now I’ve been trying to come down with it for over a week, but neglected to go get some Zicam or other preventive remedy and so on Sunday it fell as if by sledge hammer and I’m still sick with it today.  I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow for a checkup, and now she’ll really have something to check.

The plotting for Tying the Knot has faltered.  I was going to murder a wedding planner but not I’m thinking she’s a suspect.  Only . . . maybe not.  There's a story in there somewhere.  I’m circling the story like a hunting dog baffled at too rich a mix of scents.  Maybe a loud woof! will start something?

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, and Lent starts.  And I’m too sick to have a little Mardi Gras today.  Ah, well.