By midday on Friday, no useful work was getting done, though it seemed that some useful goofing off could still be accomplished, so I loaded the Wonderdog into the truck and headed for my friendly, neighborhood small stream.
The fish were cooperative, but the wading boots were slick (turns out the Patagonia Rock Grip boots don't "grip" all that well on dry rock either; it's back to the glue-esque Riverwalkers), and the inevitable fall was approximately four feet -- mostly onto my left hip.
The camera is downstairs and I'm upstairs and there aren't enough aspirin to get me to make the trip this morning, so expect pictures later this weekend.
But I can still type, and fans of Wally the Wonderdog will no doubt find this edifying...
Welcome to Burger King can I hel.... aiiyeeeeee!
Stiffening up by the minute -- and with a wet, tired Wally the Wonderdog sprawled across the passenger seat like a disgruntled pasha -- I was too hungry to wait a couple hours for dinner, and in what has become a once-a-year event, the Wonderdog and I curved the straight line home through the local Burger King drive-through window.
The Wonderdog perked up immediately at the smell of all those frying hamburgers, but I didn't think to roll up the window when I unclipped and turned to the back seat to find my wallet.
Houston, we have a problem.
In an attempt to gain doggie heaven (the Burger King kitchen), the Wonderdog launched himself over the center console and into my lap -- actually getting his front paws outside the door and his head through the drive-through window.
I grabbed a couple handfuls of Wonderblubber and started pulling back, and before he could wriggle all the way into the kitchen, the friendly, smiling Burger King employee returned to find a drooling dog with a tongue the size of a necktie waiting for her.
Fortunately, she didn't scream. (She yelped a little and recoiled.)
After a few electric moments, I got most of him hauled back into the truck (enough to get his nose out of the drive-thru window at least), the no-longer-smiling employee handed over the food, and I drove away, the Wonderdog keeping his nose glued to the bag until he got his half of the Whopper.
When did I become a player in a dog-driven reality TV show (and where are my residuals)?
See you at the medicine cabinet, Tom Chandler.