We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Observing the Foolish Master, Packing for Hunting Trip
Gwynnie the dog just has to speak out: Whazzizname is crashing about the house, panting, with foam flecking his ample chins.Scary to hear about – appalling to see! Shouted comments to the innocent: “Have you seen my boonie hat?” Did you touch my blaze vest?”Where are my camo hat and jammies?”
The innocent, and Gwynnie is as innocent as they come, stay clear.Whazzizname is going on his annual hunting expedition to upper Manitoba and is incapable of packing till the last minute – which, at his pace, is a couple of days in advance.The innocents don’t know what a boonie is, or why he needs a hat.“Chokes!” he shouts, “I never remember chokes!Oh, oh! Handwarmers,gotta find those too.Wonder if Bird Dog will remember everything?”
Gwynnie is glad she’s a herding dog – what can you forget, the cow?“Look at those labs,” she says. “They have all that GEAR – electronic collars, camo jackets, bells, all the stuff from Orvis or Cabelas or Kevins. Stuff must drive them nuts!”
Yet, still, Whazzizname grins with a blended expression of eager anticipation and deep satisfaction whenever he pauses to take a breath.
Could it be he is remembering Manitoba Sunsets?
Or chilly dawns?
Or simply chatting idly with great friends?
Whatever it is, it is an enduring mystery to Gwynnie and Whazzhername – but to Whazzizname himself as well.