The Laughing Wolf

A Wonderful Day In The Life…

Once again, I am going to try my hand at something more literary, but hopefully with more substance than simply a “look at me” type of posting. Indeed, I find myself to be quite fortunate, and not simply because the doctors were wrong when they said I would never grown up, and never be much if I did. Rather, I see it more in terms of what Gen. Doolittle said of himself, “I could never be so lucky again.”

The day started with an ache and a pain, as somewhere around 0530 my shoulders, body overall, light, and birds that were too bloody cheerful to see the sun combined to bring me up to the brinks of consciousness. I knew I was pushing at the gym this week, and I really felt it yesterday to the point that I went for a massage. Fair massage, but not as good as I had hoped for – thought I did not hurt as bad as I expected to this morning. Eight hours sleep was not enough, but I gave up about 0545 and began to get up.

Some of the pain was bad pain, but most likely the result of sleeping wrong on the damaged shoulder. The rest were just the normal aches of having pushed a bit further than I should have this week. They keep reminding me that I need to build a base, but I keep challenging myself to do more. One day I will learn. Funny, I could have sworn I just heard the Borzoi laughing…

Breakfast, cuppa, and a quick check of some key blogs to be sure all was right with the world, or as all right as possible. Many things to get the blood flowing, but will blog on jerk neighbors who shut down kids lemonade stands and the prisoner of the State Department’s Chamberlian brigade later. More also on Iranian bloggers soon as well. Nope today is for fun with friends and family.

0738 hours sees me calling the Werewolf and the Borzoi, as they are supposed to come to me today to go to a highland game. I figure that surely they were up by now, but was wrong, and was not terribly surprised. There is a thing called Borzoi time that applies, and I had not allowed enough lead to account for it. Got them to call me when they did leave, so that I could go run errands and still be back when they get here.

Shower, shave, the usual things, but this time there are phone messages from a friend also about the games. She and her others (husband and pets) are going to meet us at the games. Did they allow pets? Yes, we got it in writing this time. Also reminds me that I finally heard back from the games some three weeks after sending them a complaint. An apology, an explanation of why pets are no longer allowed, some confusion that will get a request for clarification, and an apology. Also, even better, they are going to put the no pets policy in a place where people can actually find it, such as on the main WWW page. If nothing else, that much good will come of the incident.

0920 sees me headed out on errands. The first is to the bookstore, to get my copy of Harry Potter, having been too tired and not so crazy as to go to the midnight sale. This also allows me to get a decent mocha and ensure that my blood sugar will be as frelled as possible today. Simple pleasures are so nice.

The Potter books are just such a simple pleasure. A delight to read, good versus evil, right versus wrong, adversity overcome, and some semi-realistic dealing with the cost of making the right choice versus the easy choice. I am so glad Chance and Calculation love the stories, as the Godsons get all this without getting a lecture.

I first began reading the books in Scotland, in the town of Pitlochry, where I was taking some time off. This is near where the author lives, though that was not a factor in deciding to read them. I had deliberately gone over to England without books, planning to pick some up there to force myself to try something new. As a result, when I went in the town bookstore, I saw the Potter books and bought the first one. I read it at my lodging and even at a pub, while sitting in front of the fire and a brisk winter night. Any book is improved by such settings, of good food, good local ale, and a comforting fire to take the chill out of the bones.

Pub food has changed over the years. What used to be just plain food has grown into very fancy feasts indeed, with pubs competing to offer not just the traditional things but more exotic and high-end dishes as well. Scotland is particularly good about this as you still have some independent pubs up there that have not been swallowed by the chains.

My idea of R&R needs to learn more emphasis on the Rest part, as I spent most of my time hiking and climbing to the tops of local mountains. A pack, a thermos of tea, a stop at the local butcher for a good venison pie, a shop at the greengrocer for cheese, and off you go. I was amused to find that one of the best trails there just happened to run between two distilleries, and I do strongly suspect some motive there. Both distilleries put out a fair product as well.

At the end of the day, I would come in for tea, clean up a bit, and then go out to restaurants and pubs for dinner. I don’t like to eat the same place twice, but did settle on one tea house in particular, who was also gracious enough to share some tea so I could make some for my thermos in the mornings. Some pubs were good, and one can encounter the species of shark known as a snooker shark at some, while others were just a good place to relax, and maybe even make new friends.

They were also a good place to read the Potter books, as an American could get some things explained to them about the background or words. Comfortable, in a word. By the time I left Scotland I had read two of the books I think, and I had read the third by the time I left England. While I can’t remember the exact number, I do remember that I had all the books then in print by the time I left. As with all authors, she is improving as she goes, and the net result is that I am very much looking forward to the latest, though I wish I could be back in Scotland, in front of a fire, with a good pint and some nice companions, to read it.

The fun thing about my errands were the reactions to people to someone running around in a kilt. Most were quite nice and courteous, though I think one lady at the bookstore thought I was in costume for the Harry Potter book, and full of questions. It now appears that two of my neighbors will be going to visit the games. One set of neighbors are a family from Kenya, and they were taught by Scottish missionaries and are very interested in things for that reason. The other neighbors were just plain curious and may show up.

Some people appeared to be a little intimidated, but I can’t understand why. To run the errands, I only had the dirk, utility knife, and skein dhu with me and had elected to leave the throwing axe and claymore at home. I can only imagine their reactions had I had those items with me as well.

It was a pleasant surprise not to get the two most common questions while out: What do you wear under it, and why are the ribbons down on your hat? The answer to the first is, to a female, there is only one way to find out. Males need not apply. The answer to the second takes a bit more time, but is very much liked by females.

I have been a bit cautions with the first for two reasons. First, some are easily offended and indeed look for something to which to take offense, and cleaning up after such can be messy. Second, a kinsman spouted that line off at a biker chick one time, and ended up having some of her male friends hold him in place whilst she took him up on the challenge. Figure he was scared enough she did not see much. Be very careful when, where, and to whom you smart off.

The second is fun, if a bit depressing. I really figured that at this point in my life the ribbons would be up. You see, only single males wear the ribbons down. According to lore, one of the ways of betrothal was for a lass to tie the ribbons up in public, thus announcing her choice of husband. To my mind this fits, since men really don’t have the choice in this they imagine. Most women today are intrigued at this idea of power and control (like they don’t know they still have it and use it), or at least in the public display of same.

My bonnet also gets comments because it does not bear a clan badge or military insignia, but instead a howling wolf done in silver. This is because of the fact that I regard the parent official society in Scotland to be a bunch of greedy twits, and dropped my membership in same, and because I got tired of some of the leaders and politics to do with the American chapters. There is a problem with being a director or officer in any organization, and that is you get to see the worst of that organization. In this case, the worst truly came down after I left my officer positions, so I just quit having anything to do with the organization though I still love to visit with individuals. And, even better, to go to the games just for fun.

And to the games we did go. I had agreed to meet a friend there and she called about 1100 to let me know of some potential problems. First, the parking lots were full so traffic was being diverted to an overflow lot, from which you had to take a bus back over to the games. The bus drivers were not sure about dogs, but did eventually let her on with her pup, an evil German Shepard assault dog, you know the ones with the extended magazine, fully automatic carnage, etc. This one is a safe version though, with marshmallow bullets which made the reaction, and the forced sitting in the back of the bus with a safety zone, all the more amusing.

The English Werewolf and the Borzoi pulled into my place just a few minutes latter, and we proceeded on our merry way. Thanks to the warning, we unloaded Sophie, Heathcliff, the Borzoi, and myself at the main gate while the Werewolf to find the other lot and meet up with us later. We made our way in and proceeded up to find food and other delights.

My friend met up with us on the way and we discovered an unanticipated problem: Sophie. Great Pyr’s are very protective, and that is the reason she is my director of security. That said, it must also be noted that Sopie is the alpha bitch of her household. Upon seeing another dog, she responded with barking, growling, and attempts to rend, maim, and destroy that would have been worthy of IMAO’s Chomps had I not used both hands, a firm voice, and a bit of luck to yank her up short. Things were calmed down fairly quickly, but it was clear that she was going to want to establish dominance over every other dog there. As the Borzoi put it, “She is the alpha bitch and some days the emphasis is on the bitch.”

Heathcliff ended up socializing well with other dogs, but Sophie did remain a bit of a problem. As the Werewolf put it, “We definitely need to work on socializing her a bit more.” Even so, we were able to continue the games and the kids flocked to Sophie in droves to pet and preen her, to her delight. Her attitude was definitely “Keep petting, keep scratching, and no one gets hurt.” My only problem with the situation was that I had planned to go trolling for dates with Sophie, and the only bites I got were all below the limit and had to be thrown back. Well, not quite true but the one over the limit was married, and thus had to be thrown back too. Double darn it as she was quite attractive.

This was a smaller game, but a nice one with good shade in many spots, spread out a bit, and some good vendors. They are building back up from some problems a few years ago that nearly destroyed them, from storms devastating the park where they used to be held, to some internal problems in finding people to run it. Nice bounce back, though, and the park where they are now is great and offers a lot of room for expansion.

One of the highlights of my day was finding Hamish’s Kitchen there. Hamish was one of those people I met when I first started going to games and was just a hoot. To call him a character was an understatement. He always reminded me of an English/Scottish character actor who played top sergeants in the movies, down to the “Laddie” he used. He was from Scotland originally, and his mobile kitchen always features a sign saying “English Spoken. American Understood.” He has, alas, passed on but his daughter continues the tradition. While I did not partake of the excellent fish and chips, I did get my Scotch Egg (hardboiled egg, packed in a sausage mixture, rolled in bread crumbs, and deep fried), and a deep-fried Mars bar. At another vendor I had a good meat pie and bought a dozen frozen to bring home with me. Need to check my HP sauce…

The day was absolutely gorgeous, with the sky a blue as to remind me very much of a Maxfield Parrish painting. The temperatures stayed pleasant for the most part, to the point the pups only tanked up on water once. We “pets” were good and did not check our e-mail once, though the pups often checked the pee-mail that had been left around for the canine set. The entertainment was quite good for such a small games, from the dancing to the music, my only regret being that there was no vendor there with a good music selection. Indeed, only one place had any music and that was not an album I was interested in buying.

There was a new vendor there, though, who did things with stone and glass. They had some very nice things and I lusted after a hand-done (better than 45 hours of work went into it) wooden plate with a wonderful Celtic Lady design. More than I could afford right now, but if and when some money comes in, that plate will be mine. As it was, I walked away with a cobalt blue hand made water tumbler with a fair wolf done on the side. In silver. I am a very happy wolf.

We finally left around 1600 hours and caught a bus back over to the satellite parking. No problems about our pups having to sit in the back, but I did discover that school busses are not designed for people above 5’5”, and especially not for people at 5’10” and above wearing a two-handed claymore. I made it, and only came close to putting one hole through the roof with said sword (or head).

Our first goal out and about was to go get the Borzoi some lemonade, and we then went and did a small amount of antiquing, and then went to a furniture store. Now this is a nice furniture store, but the real reason we went was that they use a Great Pyr in their advertising. The Pyr was not in yesterday, but her owner/pet was and Sophie and Heathcliff were invited in and a great visit was had by all. Just like Sophie, the store Pyr was a rescue dog, being saved from a local pound. Sophie has been invited back, and I saw a leather sofa that I really liked and want to explore further.

Then it was dinner time, and it was an entertaining meal, though I should be cinders by now. We went to a local Thai place where the Borzoi loves the tom kah kai soup to get appetizers and soup. By pure luck, we found a parking place right in front of the restaurant, and as luck would have it our table was right in front of the window that was in front of the van. The position was such that the Werewolf and the Borzoi were somewhat facing away, but I was looking almost right towards it.

I spent the meal getting looks from the van.

Now, it is not as if we were being cruel. The van was on, the air conditioner running, Prairie Home Companion playing on the radio (ok, maybe that was mean), and they were not lacking. They had had fish and other delights at the games, though I did refuse to share my deep fried Mars bar with Heathcliff, despite entreaties. Net result is that they were not thirsty or starving. Yet, every time I looked up over the half curtain in the window, I was met with a sad look from Heathcliff. This look was often joined in stereo with a more militant look from Sophie, who’s occasional “Woof” in response to waves and such made it very clear they could see into the restaurant. I spent part of the meal with my head down below the level of the curtain, avoiding looks.

After some wonderful appetizers that were meals in and of themselves, and cauldrons and bowls of tom kah kai, we went to another Thai restaurant on the south side of town, for dessert. There, we got some more appetizers and the coconut ice cream for which the Borzoi has fallen hard. And with good reason as it is wonderful. The mango we got just to try was good, but nowhere near the other. Since I was not driving, I indulged in a couple of martunies and was a very happy wolf yet again.

We all but closed the restaurant, and it was nearly 2200 hours by the time we got back to my place. The pups were walked and we talked for a while, with the net result being that they did not get to start their drive back home until about 2315 hours. I hope they made it home safe, and figure the pups and the Borzoi were out before they got to the highway. That is the usual state of affairs, and I am glad the Werewolf does not get sleepy very easily.

We had a great day, and I hope you did too. I also hope you liked this little effort at a day log and something a bit more literary.

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