Footprints...

...on the (ice) of time.

It's beginning to smell a lot like Thanksgiving—at least in the garage, where Sue has stashed a frozen turkey. Every time Pax and I go out we go out through the garage, which is now the only way out (new rule). And as we do, Pax lifts his head, circles around, and then puts paws up on the workbench (which is where the turkey lies hidden). I consider this superlative smelling since the bird was purchased frozen and the temperature in the garage post purchase has been at or below the ice-making threshold ever since.

Our morning walk today looked promising with a clear sky and a bright sun, so we opted for the big loop. But, about halfway through the route I caught on to the fact that we had been going downwind all the time which made me realize that the last leg would be painful. Pax, however, remained undaunted, in spite of the fact that he was traveling without accoutrement. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 And, departing, leave behind us   Footprints on the sands of time.

       —Longfellow