Battle Royale: Ramble with the Lady

April 24, 2015

You know how robins can do a Battle Royale in the air, doing rolls and flips like fighter pilots in World War II.

 

Well, two did that this morning and were so oblivious and locked in their battle that they thunked the ground right next to Lady, our family's mutt, and me. And Lady tried to snatch them with her jaws but I tugged her away before the robins came to and realized that there might be something more dangerous than their Battle Royale.

Naturally, at least naturally for me, it took me to that scene in ``Pulp Fiction'' about the Royale with cheese burger.

 

As I was finding the movie clip, I noticed it was a 1994 release. It sure does not seem that long ago. But then maybe that has to do with how many scenes in ``Pulp Fiction'' have become fixtures in pop culture.

 

A crisp morning, though not as much frost in town as I expected. Such a crisp morning that I stretched out a full two-mile ramble with Lady. On the far ends of the extended ramble the frost was much thicker.

 

As usual, mourning doves cooed on all sides as we rambled off. Once across the side rail separating town from the wildness of the town pond, the usual trilling of red-winged blackbirds came from around the north old clay pit.

 

A lone muskrat swam on the far north end of the north pit, leaving a V in its wake. At least three small divers bobbed up and down on the north pit. 

 

A lone sandpiper piped around the gravel on the town pond road.

 

The Canada geese continue to act in that hyper protective mode that makes me think there are goslings, but I have not seen any yet. And this morning because we circled much of the north pit coming off the extended ramble, I had a chance to really check for goslings.

 

Soon, very soon, maybe tomorrow in the cold, cold rain. And it will be a moment of existential realism for the goslings: ``Hello, cruel, cruel, world.'' I think existentialism and realism may be mutually exclusive.

 

I digress.

 

One of the beauties of this morning was the smell of taco or burrito fillings that drifted on the cold air all the way to south pit. I do not know what the chef/cook was making for his Friday feasts on his food truck for migrant/nursery workers, but boy did it smell wonderful.

 

Back home, Lady chased a black squirrel up the neighbor's gnarled old elm and nearly caught it.

 

One of those full circle mornings.

 

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