Coon Dogs

I have to call Albert again, his dogs are fucking with me now. They prefer my left-overs to chasing around after coons. They're good dogs, but I'm bad for they're training. I let all four of them inside, two Blue-Ticks, a Red-Bone, and a Black-Mouth Cur. I think they're going to love me to death. They drink about a gallon of water, then chow down on pot-pie and cornbread. Four in the morning, I caught the fire just right, and make them another pone. They're so expectant, that when I'm getting the new pone out of the oven, they're all four right behind me (they know the stove is hot) in a kind of dog chorus line, on point. In one simple lesson I've trained four very smart dogs to tree cornbread. We had our little snack. I smeared their pieces with bacon fat and had mine with butter. We all had another drink, then I took them out to pee. It was like a circus act. Then we all went back inside and I got out the foam pad I use when I sleep on the floor in summer and put it over near the stove. They were asleep in a scant minute. They must have been running all night. Since I'd stoked the stove, and it was after five, I put water on to heat, so I could shave and wash. The house is quite warm, heated by dogs; there's a smell of wet wool, which I find attractive, musky, and the murmurs they make in their sleep. The next time someone asks me what I do, I'm going to tell them that I run a hostel for coon dogs; that for recreation, I follow a fox down the driveway. Stimulation is a variable. I perform well, under pressure, it's just one of those things, I tend not to panic, just do what needs to be done, and move on to the next thing. Those rills today, wet-weather springs, were so alive. Everything was flowing. Hiked around in the woods with B, looking for a suitable dead tree and found one only a hundred feet from the woodshed. Going to harvest it tomorrow. Might be able to wheelbarrow it right to the shed. Excellent news as it's supposed to be near zero Thursday night. Got out and back today, on the frozen driveway. Supply run. Holed up, now, against the festivities and the drunks on the roads. Had to turn NPR off as I was sick of year-end lists. I've started doing little lectures in my head about aspects of writing that I want to talk about at Chautauqua. I've never taught in a classroom, so I'm not used to this, but I am used to telling stories, which is the format I seem to be adopting, reading a few relevant pages to emphasize whatever the point was. It amuses me, trailing behind B, walking in the woods, thinking about commas. His knowledge of the woodland is extensive, and I love hearing him talk about trees (or anything else), and that'll surely be more than one of the stories: walking in the woods with someone who knows more than you do. I'm going to take the vehicle down early tomorrow, before the sun hits the driveway, because it's supposed to snow soon, and I'll be busy with firewood all day tomorrow, but I still need to access town, so I need to get the vehicle down there. I'll need whiskey and tobacco at some point.