Every time the Geezer goes off on one of his jaunts with his fellow fossils, I lose access to the computer. That means no blogging. I hate that. The old boy has been on an extended fishing, camping, canoeing, and bull-shitting trip. When he returns, he looks and acts like a well chewed shoe. Typically, he lounges around, complaining about the aches and pains he’s garnered after ten days of strenuous activity his ancient body doesn’t normally experience. That means a dark monitor and a keyboard in “Rest-in-peace” mode.
He’s finally resuming his normal (for him) activities, including lighting up the computer. I’m back at the keyboard. All’s right in the world.
Camping. That’s one of those things wiser species, like canines, find hard to understand. Humans make such a fuss if they lose power in their houses for a couple of hours, you’d think someone had revoked their constitutional rights. Yet, they voluntarily wander off to the woods and profess to enjoy the privations to which they expose themselves. And, they call Homo sapiens an evolved species?!
After allowing the old boy a few days to recuperate, I decided to ask the Geezer about the mystic fascination camping holds for some humans. “Hey, Geezer, why do you go on camping trips?”
“Why, to commune with nature,” he answered immediately. That meant he was sure of his answer or had given no thought to the matter, which, with humans, is often one in the same.
“Don’t you commune with nature when we take walks or when we go in the boat?” I knew I had him there.
“Yes, but it’s not the same.” He looked annoyed. He usually does when he knows I’m about to make him look really foolish.
“How’s it different?”
The Geezer squirmed. “Well, you get to hear the whip-poor-wills at night, feel the chill of the morning breeze, see the stars and moon, cook out in the open, lots of things…You know, roughing it.”
I didn’t know, but telling that to a human that was as fruitful as peeing on one of those electric flower garden fences. I asked, “Hmmmm, if roughing it is what you want to do…” I hesitated, baiting the trap. A wiser species would have recognized the ploy.
“Yes?” Zap! The trap sprung and the Geezer was where I wanted him.
“You say you like roughing it, but why do you take all that stuff with you?” I watched the expression on his face. It’s what the Geezer would call a shit-eating-grin if he observed it on others.
“Give me an example, Sandy.”
“Well, why do you take all that kitchen paraphernalia? What about the tables and chairs, cooking stove, and that sink center that opens into quarter-mile long food processing center? Wouldn’t it be rougher to sit on the ground, cook over a fire or eat cold food, and prepare what you eat right on mother earth?”
“What about the cot, the air mattress, the sleeping bag, and the tent? Wouldn’t it be cooler, couldn’t you see the stars better, couldn’t you hear the whip-poor-wills more easily, and wouldn’t it be rougher is you just slept on the ground?”
“How about the screened room you haul along…”
The Geezer quickly interrupted me, “Ahhh, sand flies. Mosquitoes. The little bastards can make it miserable out there.”
“But, isn’t that what you said you wanted? Isn’t rough and miserable pretty much the same thing?”
“You just don’t understand. Say Sandy, would you like to take a ride in the boat?” The Geezer changed the subject when he realized he’d been out-thought, outmaneuvered, and defeated. I’ve seen humans do that a lot.
“Sure,” I said. Then I wagged my tail and let him know that I didn’t wish to embarrass him further, insuring I’d get my boat ride. Unlike humans, we canines know when not to rock.