The end of January, hallelujah. It’s skunk season and every night about this time Chester is dying to go outside. I know exactly what he’s after; does he think I’m ignorant? He lays at the door and does big deep sniffs and growls and barks his Alert II bark, which is, “There’s something out here, friend or foe, I don’t know, let me out immediately.” And I don’t and he huffs and sulls up on the couch. I don’t like drawing people out. I’m not going to play games about if you’re mad at me and don’t call, I will notice, but I won’t care. If you’re mad enough to do that, man up and call and tell me why you’re miffed at me and give me an opportunity to apologize. If not, it’s likely that I don’t know that I’ve angered you. Like most people, I’m happy-go-lucky in my own little dimension. If I did it on purpose, well, may the Lord be with you. I wanted to write about something serious and thought provoking tonight but I’m sort of skittish about wading into those dark waters. I just know I’d be off down the rabbit hole and probably neck deep before I knew it and too late to turn back because I’d be having all the right words and prose and it would be too good…