Most mornings, as we drive to school, fog rests in the low-lying areas beside the rivers and in the parks. Will has been curious to explore the phenomenon, and we agreed to get up early on Saturday, to do so, taking risk -- with the hound along.
The fog was not particularly thick, thickest closest to the river, so we made our way in that direction.
Even at its thickest, Will was disappointed, and by the time we reached this point, our shoes were soaked.
At about that point the hound caught first a scent, then sight of a deer, and fell into his typical apoplectic fit, crying his harsh chop-alert that prey is caught, leaping and twisting, trying to give chase.. The deer turned its rump toward us and looked back over its shoulder with great disdain. People from miles around called the police to report the sounds of some horrible beast in great pain -- but that's just how he sounds when he's found his prey: A loud, harsh yelp that carries for miles.
We agreed to return when the fog was thicker, but with more appropriate footgear and less hound.
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