Mar 31, 2016

A number of you readers may think writing comes easily for me. Yes it’s true, I can spin a clever metaphor and on occasion, a well-placed oxymoron, but the doggone truth is, I struggle with writing. The act of writing makes my paws sweat and this is not a good thing because it leaves traceable trail.  Most days, I hate it, writing that is. I dig for any excuse to postpone the writing. When Annie slides the screen door open on the Arizona morning, I dash, separating myself from my brain brimful with thought and potential prose. 

I scrounge for any acceptable interference to defer the writing. To help you better understand my condition, lately l have taken to following clark when he shuffles to the bathroom with book in hand. For those of you who may have advanced to 2nd year undergraduate coursework in soft psychology: resist your inclination to armchair Freudian interpretation.  I follow him merely to evade that guillotine called writing.  Recently, I have come to know there is a sensory tariff to be paid for trailing clark to his preferred reading station.

I’m sad to report I’ve not been able to punish the Tubac lizard since my arrival.

I want to. Hurt him, that is. When I spot one, and there have been several sightings, the tongue wagging from the lizard never ceases. As a Bostie, I cannot accept this kind of blatant disrespect as we consider tongue wagging to be a sign of contempt.  Thus, I find myself standing, much like a pillar of salt over the top of what I can only surmise to be his home….waiting. Waiting for the moment when I can put a good squeeze on that knucklehead.  For those of you are not so well informed, we Bosties bring bone-breaking force to anything we choose to clamp our jaws upon. I only hope this information does not keep anyone from loving us and providing a good home. My apologies for what have sounded much like a paid political endorsement, “Yes, I am Enya, and I approve this ad.”

Well buckaroos, I almost had one today. The Tubac lizard, that is. Annie and I were out hiking the Anza Trail this morning while clarko was peddling the bike.  I could smell him long before I knew where he was hiding. I’ve smelled a dead javlina previously so I know rotten stinky. Trust me, one  Tubac lizard smells worse than 3 of those wild pigs. Before I could shorten the distance between us, he was on to me. Diving beneath a hefty rock I could not dislodge the cretin. I dug frantically until Annie made me  stop digging. There was no further pursuit, my quest had ended.
We return to Montana Monday. Alas, I have little to show for my pursuits. My tan is enviable, and my athletic condition has improved, but still no lizard to claim. Don’t ask me about lizards lost. I hope everyone is looking forward to my return. I’m excited about getting back to our spot in the “root.” We have flowers to plant.  I love Montana. How could anyone not?

Happy Trails,


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