WW III

It’s not what you think. Wild Wales, word wizardry and who's who in the world of the uncool.

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“And the smell of the air! I used to spend a week just breathing.” (Tolkien, LOTR)

“To me, a hike is like a six course meal with walking in-between.”

That’s Joel, halfway up a hill in Wales, around a mouthful of mushroom quiche. It’s getting colder the higher we go but he needs another calorie-fortification stop.

I’m impatient. Still many more miles to go.

Joel says I’m like a dog that needs to be walked. He’s a cat and will purr indoors for hours, in front of his computer. I get antsy and need to be taken out, frequently.

Like a dog, I lack guile. I want to romp outdoors and need only the barest encouragement to crap in a hedge.

If dogs are the dorks of the animal kingdom, that is me.

Speaking of which, I called Joel a dork the other day. He furrowed a brow.

“No one’s ever called me a dork before.”

“I find that hard to believe.”