By Dale Bowman
Mulling things on my morning ramble with Lady, our family's mutt.
I didn't expect much this morning, just one of those blah winter mornings where I have to actively fight to maintain the ability to put one foot in front of another.
But it turned into more of an adventure than I expected.
At least when we reached the wilds around the town pond.
I saw that an ice fishermen had drilled fresh holes over the deepest part of the south old clay pit. Now that made sense this late in the ice-fishing season.
Then Lady perked up and lunged forward as we came down the east side of the south pit. A rabbit had flushed out on the ice (I have no idea why) and was running to get off the ice on the southeast corner.
I am not the Great White Hunter by any stretch of the imagination. But I will say so myself, I am a pretty good rabbit hunter. And I figured this being winter, the rabbit would not hole up.
I was right. It tried hiding in the brush by the south pit's edge and we reflushed it. It made a wide circle and headed out toward the main train tracks to the east.
To my eyes, it offered many good shots as it loped off.
Which naturally, at least naturally for me, led me to ``Wabbit Hunting.''
(Hello, Chuck Jones and Elmer Fudd.)
OK, in reality, those shows are quite anti-hunting on the surface. But I sometimes wonder if their absurdity may actually humanize hunters. But maybe that is wishful thinking on my part.
And it has a connection to Stray Casts. When our podcast comes--in a couple months?--it will be known as ``Cartoon Outdoor Television,'' thanks to the fertile brain of Pat Renwick.
It was slightly warmer this morning, which softened up snow. Naturally, at least naturally for me, that took me to ``Thawing Snow,'' Syn King Stepz.
Back in town, the bank thermometer read 33 degrees. About right.
A block from home, a gray squirrel ran up a tree, at the house with the decorative fruit trees in front a street north.
Lady made a token effort to lunge up at it--decorative fruit trees are relating short. Her effort was enough to flush the squirrel and it became flustered enough to make a mad dash toward the bur oaks a couple houses down.
Rabbit hunting to squirrel chasing, it was a surprisingly eventful ramble on another morning.