She had to go out; it was about 6:30 in the morning. No sense arguing with her, best to just roll with it. Rub your eyes and find your pink clogs and shuffle with her out the door, down to the end of the driveway to her favorite spot for leaving early morning pee-mail.
Glancing over your shoulder as she snuffles along you see the moon is setting. And you remember you have a brand new tripod and wouldn’t this be a great time to try it out.
But she is still snuffling, she hasn’t chosen her exact spot yet. There is something that smells good over there by the day lily. Really good apparently.
You tug on her leash, urging her to hurry up. Sniff sniff…meander… sniff some more.
Finally she is done and you both sprint for the house, your mind trying to remember where you last saw the tripod. The camera. Most importantly your glasses. Her mind wondering what glorious adventure we are heading toward.
Gathering up all three you fumble attaching the camera to the tripod. Got it finally. Hurry – the moon is going down!
Outside as you tiptoe carefully across the dew slick deck Katie prances and pulls expecting an adventure. She has to go with you because if you left her in the house she’d bark hysterically and spouse is sleeping. Smart spouse.
The grass is flooded with dew. Your pajamas are instantly soaked, the pink clogs slip off your feet forgotten. Katie gets put, much against her wishes, in her pen to watch you from a safe enclosure. And so you don’t have to handle the leash while figuring out the tripod as the moon slips faster and faster toward the tree tops.
Because the moon is so low you have to go behind a line of spruce trees planted on the side of a hill. Out of Katie’s sight. She puts up a small protest. You tell her to shhhhhhhh!
The hill makes setting up the tripod harder. You can’t remember which way to turn this and that. The camera is heavy and you can’t find the knob to tighten the center post and it keeps slipping. You hold it with your hand, bend down and squint through the lens. Your glasses slide off your head and fall into the wet grass.
You grab them up, refocus the wandering lens and shoot, then try to check the image but you can’t see because your glasses are smeared with dew and fingerprints and bits of recently mowed grass.
You refocus everything including your brain and try again. Click
And from behind you comes the unmistakable smell of a visitor. Odious would be the term.
You gather up your camera atop the unwieldy tripod and race on bare feet to get the dog and you both gingerly run across the slippery deck into the house where you begin to laugh and she looks at you like you are crazy.
Which is pretty much certifiably true.