I am most fortunate to have two large, beautiful, eight-year-old malamutes. Red and Wolf by name, littermates, and my companions since they were six weeks old. Every once in a while, Red will be bothered by a flea and go after it, biting with great gusto. It appeared that was the situation recently.
As we grow older, time, for the most part, seems to pass faster and faster. The days, the weeks, the years, all seem to disappear in a blur of time. Two notable exceptions are the two months named after those ancient tyrants, Julius and Augustus Caesar.
From the snowy hardwoods of the North to the pine forests of the South, hunters make their pilgrimage each autumn to remote farms and forests to celebrate the most special day in the deer woods – the whitetail opener. Here are two views.
You’re already awake when the alarm goes off. Heck, you’ve been awake most of the night, one minute restlessly dozing, the next jerking upright in bed to check the clock, partially out of anticipation, partially out of fear that you’ll oversleep and miss the most important sunrise of the year. But each time you sit up, you’re reminded that, at least for now, all is well with the world. You’re surrounded by the peaceful rumble of the snores of your fellow hunters.