And on through the forest we go.


After a big rain storm, I like to go walk around in the forest and check on the trees. Usually, RIP, someone didn’t make it and we all climb on top of the carcass and feel sad and shit. For like 2 seconds. They’re trees. They’ll live on as dead logs. The really big ones, they’re all still standing. They’re like a million years old.


Also, after the rain, there’s the creepy quotient in there, because the trails can be hidden under all the tree branches, and in the fog, everything looks different. Sort of headless horseman different.


There is the possibility of getting lost, and not getting out before it starts to rain. This I know from experience. The dogs know this too, and everyone sticks close on the rainy day walks. Also because I tell them about headless horsemen in there, it seems like appropriate conversation to pass the time. Also because I think they were doing some logging or cutting in there somewhere and there were creepy robot noises and clipper ship bells sometimes chiming through the fog.


Otterpop was up ahead on the trail, and I saw her stop dead in her tracks, which is her danger alert sign. If the danger alert is for average dangerous, say a mountain biker in spandex trousers, then she cheerfully greets them by freaking out barking and charging like the reactive ass she is, albeit with a stunning recall which calls her in right away. I really try not to let this happen, but slip happens.


If it’s like really, super duper, totally extravaganza fiesta of horrors dangerous, like two for the price of one bobcats or creepy forest walking guy carrying hefty bag of potential sawed up body parts, she doesn’t do the freakout charge, she precalls herself back to me and let’s me figure out how to get us out of the danger pickle.

Thanks, Otterpop. Leave it to ME to get us out of this mess. Some lady’s best friend you turned out to be.


Does a guy all dressed in black wielding a saw count as fiesta of horrors danger? I would say on a foggy, rainy forest day with no one else in the forest, sure. Why not? Because serial killers, you know, they use the bone saw to hack up their victims for easier disposal and so when you see a guy in all black walking through the trees with a saw, you just want to take note.

Me personally, I pick up a nice, fat tree branch club, so I’m armed for just in case he’s coming after me with that saw, look him dead in the eye, smile cheerfully, then tell all the dogs to run and we run as fast as we can down the trail away from him.

Maybe he was just clearing the trails. A lot of branches and trees down in there. Maybe he’s horrified backatcha by a club wielding, muddy panted messy hair lady with a pack of muddy little black dogs and we just scared the pants off of him.

This happens sometimes. Sorry, mister. Hope you find your pants.

But maybe he was a sawer of death. Ha HA! Take that. Not on my watch, am I getting sawed. We are all fast runners, and bid a hasty getaway. And leave him to saw what he’s going to saw. And on through the forest we go.