It's drizzly, breezy, and cool this morning in North Texas, after a dry, blistering August. Rain fell most of yesterday. Just after sunrise I heard the distant popping of hunters shooting at, and probably missing, the few resident mourning doves that didn't head south when the cool front arrived. No worry. Migrants from Oklahoma and Kansas will arrive in a few weeks.
Cate and Maggs are soaking wet and feeling fine, treeing backyard squirrels, barking through the wrought iron fence at cottontails in the neighbors' yards. For the first time since May, I can imagine following a dog through the woods or across prairie.
Looking out my office window at drizzle falling on erstwhile prairie reminds me of the effect of rain on Blackland clay. Which, in turn, reminds me of this little Corb Lund tune:
2 comments:
Ah, the Blackland Prairie in the rain.
The only time I've ever looked eye to eye with my wife was after she spent an hour tromping across it.
Welcome back, we've missed you.
I'm going to trap a red-tail for some squirrel hawking this fall to go along with the Harris hawk. We have a lot of squirrels up this way this year.
Thanks, Steve. It's great to hear from you. You falconers truly amaze me: "I'm going to trap a red-tail for some squirrel hawking this fall..." That's seems like me saying I'm going to trap a bobcat for some rabbit hunting.
See you in the woods! Give me a holler sometime.
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