I’d just used the last of my prepared firewood.
“Dog” says I, “we’re fucked.”
Dogs always listen and never lie. This is why dogs are superior to people… and cats. Cats (and most people) will tell me that I’m handsome and beautiful and spring will come tomorrow. A cat would say this while taking a dump in my shoe (and I’m not ruling out that behavior in a subset of humans either).
“Yep. Totally hosed.” The dog agreed, surveying the mostly empty woodshed.
“I’m out of options.” I whined.
“No more wood.” The dog seemed contented.
“Can’t get more either.”
“The squirrels must be cold.” The dog sniffed the ATV’s tire.
“What was that?” I asked.
“The place where squirrels live. Must be gone. You said so.” My dog likes chasing the critters attracted to my ‘firewood processing area’.
“No. There’s wood there but it’s under snow. I won’t retrieve that stuff unless I’m desperate.” I explained.
“So you’re not desperate but it’s cold and we’re going to freeze. Want to play fetch?”
“Well I guess I’m technically desperate. But there’s also my ‘lever theory’.” I mumbled.
“Leave something in reserve… for when you really need it.” The dog said it like a koan.
“Hey, you’ve been reading my blog?” I really have to stop talking to creatures.
“Of course, on the Internet nobody knows you’re a dog.”
I patted the dog while pondering my ‘lever theory’. Retrieving wood from the unprocessed, unplowed, log pile really would be deploying my very last lever. It was simply impossible to get into the forest to fell an actual tree. Buying firewood was inconceivable. Wasn’t it better to leave it in reserve? What if it got colder? What if winter lasted extra long? Shouldn’t I leave the log pile for something serious?
“It is -16 degrees.” The dog coaxed.
I sighed.
“It is March.” My dog can not only read a blog but understand calendars.
I sighed again.
“It is -16 in March and you’re standing next to a shoulder high pile of snow. From my point of view this is the firewood equivalent of the zombie apocalypse.”
I sighed a third time.
“If you do not retrieve the wood now, what further bad news would convince you to do it?”
My dog is smarter than me. I decided to deploy my ‘last lever’ firewood.
Retrieve Al Gore and and burn HIM. He’s certainly wooden enough.
I have similar conversations with my Jack Russell terrier. He likes to watch TV with me and when I crack open a beer, I give him 2 teaspoons, dog equivalent of a can. Trouble is he can’t hold his beer and after 3 or four “cans,” he starts to talk nonsense. This has absolutely nothing to do with firewood. I know. . . sigh.