CHICKENS, DUNCAN AND FRIENDS

          We've been having a regular heat-wave the past few days - the rain of course making for hazardous driving and walking conditions - why hell, while maneuvering slowly down the icy walkway, my feet suddenly shot out from under me and I found myself flat on my back; thought for a moment that I may have sprained my wrist or broke it, I laid there for a moment or two, just to make sure that the remainder of my other extremities were still in working condition.  I see the chicken coop has finally thawed out and it's as slick as a gob of snot; almost toppled in there too when I was trying to sidestep the flock of cluckers - now that could have been more than just a nasty fall - ewwwwww.  Since the sun is shining and the temperature is still above zero, I'll be scoopin' out the chicken poop today; may even let the chickens out to make my job a little easier; too bad all there is in the barnyard is snow and ice to scratch around, so they might just huddle around.

          Duncan, our dog, doesn't seem to mind when the temperature drops so low, the hairs in your nose freeze and crinkle every time you suck in some air but when it rains, he prefers to lie about in my studio and watch the flames in the woodstove dance to the beat of the crackling fire; he's not too fond of the rain.  It's odd, but I've seen photos of dogs posted on Facebook that are curled up in the snow by the doorstep and I imagine some of them depict cruelty to pets, but I've often seen Duncan curled up in the snow and when I call him in to warm his bones by the woodstove, he just looks at me and stays where he's at; he is definitely an outdoor dog, well maybe until it's dark out and then I don't even have to coax him into the studio, he just runs in and curls up in his nice comfy bed.

          I'd like to mention that living out here in the boonies, so to speak, although the sea is not even a close distance away, our neighbours are much like the dock-people I knew, back when I was living on my sailboat.  Our friend Clayton Clarke, who lives about 1/2 mile away and is about 78 years old has come to our rescue on more than one occasion in the winter.  Last year, when the temperature dropped well below zero, he was down under our crawlspace, laying on his back, soldering the copper pipes back together where they had frozen and burst.  I'm talkin' about a man that's recently had a couple of heart attacks and suffers from emphysema; that man is always puffing on a cigarette.  And this winter, when our diesel truck has a tantrum because it's -30C with a windchill of about -50C and refused to budge an inch in the State of Maine on New Year's Day; as soon as the weather warms up and the rain is coming down like a rainforest deluge, he grabs his super battery booster and we head over there.  Apparently my wife and his wife watched us pull this heavy charger up an icy driveway that was slicker than a hooker's panties coming off, and were amazed that neither of us fell down, which of course at our age could have been disastrous.  The fall itself may not have been so bad but picture this, two old farts laying flat on their arses sliding down this slippery driveway so fast and still gathering speed, their cheeks are slappin' their faces so hard, damn near knocks them out, and a highway at the bottom with a logging truck carrying a full load of trees screamin' down the hill from Danforth; why hell, we would have been turned into freshly made pablum; just a red stain on the highway. 

          Well gotta go, the wife just informed me to come into the house and have a nice cup of hot coffee and listen to the Neil Young show, which is against the development of the Alberta oil sands.  It's people like him that hopefully more people will listen to and follow his example to halt this sort of procedure.  Have a good one - cheers, eh!