It’s four in the morning and Seamus is snoring, lying curled up against the back of my knees. Occasionally he lets out a whine and a whimper as he’s chasing mice, squirrels or little creepy-crawlers in his dreams.
Occasionally there is work to be done that takes precedence over fishing. (Don’t feel too sorry for me, it doesn’t happen that often.) But when it does, Seamus pitches in and scours the underbrush and piles of leaves left over from last fall and gets mesmerized to the point he loses track of time. In fact, it takes several calls – one at least at a higher decibel level than usual – to get his attention.
Yesterday was a work day at the cabin: cutting grass, running the trimmer, burning small debris – a general cleanup. Never at a loss for something to do, Seamus took on the characteristic of a hog. Using his nose to root beneath the vegetation and leaves in and around the woodlot, he got so intense, his eyes glazed over and was panting as though he just finished a day’s hunt. He had a ball and he must have come across a snake because all of a sudden he jumped straight up like a startled deer, circled the spot and never put his nose beneath the vines again. It was like watching a kid learning to ride a bicycle; falling but not wanting to give up and not sure of what to do next.
We all got our jobs done under the guiding hand of “She Who Must Be Obeyed” (I’ve worked for Drill Instructors with fewer expectations.) and can now get my stuff together for a night float on the Au Sable to take advantage of the hex hatch for browns.