You know what it's like, a cup of strong covefe, dogs fed, Morning Prayer said, 1928 thank you very much, and the house asks, "What shall we do with the rest of this heat-stricken morning?" Answer, "Let's head to the lake and take the dogs."
A few minutes later and there it was, Lake Whitney in all its dammed up glory. Seriously, a tranquil scene, and the dogs loved it, splashing and paddling around while I tried to catch fish with a topwater lure. Big fun for one and all, and it'd have been more fun if a ferocious bass had struck my fake plastic floating shad with famously piscine fury, but that didn't happen.
Instead, the dogs got a good bath, the lake remained tranquil and my eyelids started to sweat, so we packed up and headed back to the Compound and the comparative safety of this North Central Texan bucolic haven. Good result, apart from catching any fish, which didn't happen, but that wasn't the point; the dogs had a massively fun day at the water and slept accordingly on the way back. Good pups.
The Pit/Lab(?) cross is my eldest's, and I'm looking after her while he reclasses to be a Forward Observer. I asked him, "I say, son, does that mean you're going artillery?" He replied that it did. "So then, d'ye have to go to AIT again and learn how to put shells in guns?"
No, he replied, "It's more air assault and sending the coordinates back." I got that, "Right on, air assaulty, are you fit for it?" He thought that he was, good for Hood, average for Bragg, and fair play to him. So, say a prayer for the kid's next evolution, he's come a long way.
Cheers and Fish on,
LSP
