The Butcher ended up being home yesterday unexpectedly so, even though I had work I was supposed to be doing, we loaded the dog in the car and drove over to Fort Blount, which does not exist any more. But we took the old western road in part to get there, past ancient houses and up and down milder hills than surrounded us. We saw (and barked at like it was our only job in the world) deer, turkeys, cows, goats, trucks, tractors, and circling hawks.
It was marvelous.
But when we got out to the fort, there was NOTHING. Not a marker, not a fence, not even a sign warning you that you were headed toward a dead end. We both had to pee. The Butcher peed on a poached deer carcass. I peed at the front of the car, using the bumper as leverage. I still managed to splash on my pants.
That left me with mixed feelings. But at least it was down low on the legs, so I didn’t have to sit in it on the way home.