Always stay on the good side of the cook, especially when he ain’t served the pie yet

Sometimes I think Thanksgiving should be expressed in military terms, where “Thanksgiving+2” denotes the original dinner plus two nights of leftovers.  No one ever complains about leftover pie, but ask the gathering who wants to take some turkey home, and suddenly you’re talking to a bunch of kids standing around a broken window.

As I was the cook again this year, none could complain when I skipped the midafternoon couch orgy, and slipped out the back for some fishing. It’s the beauty of Brownlining, five minutes away – and no better place to burn that stuffing off than a brisk march upstream.

Fog and chill dominated all else, and the walk kept me heated enough to enjoy the solitude, normally I’m intent on fishing, yet I managed to hold it at arm’s length long enough to see the larger picture.

I think there’s medication for this

My favorite was the beaver afflicted by Attention Deficit Disorder, I stopped to survey his handiwork marveling that his attention span appeared shorter than a kid on a sugar binge. Clearcutting is a human trait, but this furry fellow needs some medication, as every tree and stem seemed to have a half dozen teeth marks on it, with only three eaten to completion.

It’s like the family member that presses their thumb in the bottom of the See’s candy, hoping to find the one with the cherry center. An abominable practice, but every family has one..

I managed to get a couple fish, but the fog and cold had had subdued much of the bite, and I didn’t mind as I was more intent on exercise. Fog muffled much of my travel noise, and I managed to scare up a four point buck out of the undergrowth, it’s plain he was lounging on the couch as well.

Fog on a fir branch, ain’t Nature grand?

While crossing the creek to survey the newly completed beaver dam I recovered a big barbell equipped minnow imitation likely brushed off the vest of another fly fisherman. It was a monstrous green and white concoction that was someone’s favorite bass fly.

Nice to know I have some company, we didn’t cross paths, as I spent most of my time enjoying the out of doors, knowing some other poor bastard was doing my dishes.

It’s the Cook’s Prerogative, a hint of complaint and no pie for you.

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