Trudge And Scrape

Yesterday, I walked Brill, as what we normally do. He saw the path to the trail and kept yanking me towards it. I held my ground and said no. The path doesn't look inviting... hibernating trees and dead grass. And it will be muddy having our on and off snow. But Brill held his ground, too. In fact, he laid down, almost motionless. I didn't see that coming. Usually I do and I only need to keep tugging at him. Once he hits the ground, there is no faerieway I could ever pull him up to follow me. Trust me, I was already leaning back holding the leash with all my weight and he remained laying, unmoved.

Fine, I said. We'll go to the trail. And he happily bounced right up and started his merry trot. I've been mumbling and grumbling all this time. I devised a plan to walk myself on those dead grass so I won't get muddy boots.

There was grass, sure. More like patches here and there. And probably by the sixth step, I am trudging. My boots have grown the size of ogre shoes (though I'm not certain they wear any) because of the mud under them. Jumping from one patch of grass to the next did not help as I sink more and the mud gets squished. They became heavier and heavier as Brill kept trotting. They were sooo heavy that faeriefeet were coming off the damn boots! 

Ooohh... a fallen tree. Hang on, Brill!
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
gOdd! The mud seems like thy were glued.
And  we'd walk again.

Ooohh... a rock. Wait, Brill!
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Waaahhh... they're just becoming thicker and thicker. And I'm getting tired scraping. But we have to continue walking out of the trail. To go back is pointless; Brill doesn't like going back the same route and it'll be harder pulling him back.
We'll get there yet, Brill... it only seems forever.
He looks at me oddly having a time of his life.

Trudge, trudge. Scrape, scrape. Trudge, trudge.
By the time the trail ended, faerielegs had a good workout. I was sweating in spite the cold weather. I looked at Brill's legs and he looked like he was wearing galoshes, webbed with mud like a duck at the end of his paws. Argh! Not only do I have to clean my boots, I now have to clean his dang paws!

In the end, I had to clean a potful of mud off my boots, a muddy bathtub because of Brill, including the bathroom floors, and the muddy paw prints on the carpeted stairs. Why I listened to a mutt, I dunno. He's happy and I guess that's what matters. And that feeling to be off the muddy trail and back on paved ground... aaahhh... bliss! Even when I was trudging and scraping as we walked home, seeing our driveway up ahead. Man... it just really seemed forever to get there.


Sylphy Sylphy
41-45, F
Nov 10, 2012