Middle of February. I have an 8:30 a.m. appointment in Albany to have the car serviced. It’s over an hour’s drive away. Need to get an early start. That means a pre-dawn, subzero walk with the collie through snowy woods.
We head off down the snowshoe trail. He runs ahead, barking into the dark. He wears a bell so I can keep track of his whereabouts. As often happens, he disappears for a time on the far side of Paradise Hill. Who knows what he might be getting into. The snow back there is a couple feet deep. At this hour, things appear dim and gentian-blue. I stop at the edge of a spruce grove and listen. I hear no bell.
So I call the collie’s name. Silence. I call again. Silence. I wait. From high in one of the spruces, a barred owl gives a hoot. I call the collie’s name again. The owl gives another hoot. Silence returns. Time passes but not the silence. I am starting to worry about my appointment. I don’t like being late for appointments. But lo! Out of the gentian blue comes the familiar tink-tink-tink of an approaching bell. Then the collie appears. I give him cheese and we head home.
Back inside the house, I remove copious clumps of snow and ice from between the pads of his feet. He assists by licking my hand. Now I notice a certain smell coming off him—rank, gamey, feculent. Once again, it would seem, he has gotten into something fundamental. No time now to give him a bath. If I leave at once I can still make that car appointment. So I head out the door. The collie barks his displeasure at being left home alone. He barks and he barks and he barks. I can hear it from all the way up at the barn.
In dark cerulean cold, the car starts only grudgingly. I drive off. It takes a long time before the car’s heater has any effect. I am halfway to Albany before I become aware of a certain fragrance, now coming off me. Talk about regrettable transfer effects. I’ve had a lot of wild ideas in my life, but I’ve never smelled like one before.
I arrive at Albany in time for the car appointment. Everybody there keeps a polite distance. For some reason, service today is particularly speedy. I’m out of there in no time. I drive back home to the Catskills listening to some Loudon Wainwright. Upon my arrival, the collie barks with joy. Till he is led to the tub. Then it’s my turn.