A Foggy Morning in Old Oakland Town
Normally, Mama Dog does the morning dog walk, but she’s been under the weather and not getting enough sleep, so I set my alarm for 6 instead of my usual 6:24 and took the first shift myself. I got the paper, made a pot of tea, and took Doggy Dog out for his stroll.
It was dark out – sunrise wasn’t due until 7:21 – and there was a pleasant blanket of fog reducing the world to a manageable half-block length. It was what passes for wintry cold round these parts and our street was as empty as Dick Cheney’s chest cavity. I’m not out and about much at such an early hour, and it was kind of a pleasant novelty. For reasons that don’t bear a whole lot of going into – let’s just say they involve a greeting card and a bag of poo, both originating from roughly the same environs, but bound for separate receptacles – I decided to eschew the quiet inner streets I normally favour on a doggy walk and instead head up Telegraph towards Alcatraz.
Even at barely past six on a Tuesday morning, traffic along Telegraph is brisk, but I saw scarcely another pedestrian the whole walk. I was a couple blocks up before I passed a heavily bundled jogger. I saw a guy across the street at the gas station trying repeatedly to close his car door. That was about it.
We passed the the guitar store with the obnoxious dogs who pace challengingly out the always-open door during business hours and bark ferociously through the glass when we come by after hours. Even they weren’t up yet. Doggy Dog peed on the tree outside the store that they think they own, and nary an alarum was raised.
As we walked the last block up to the mailbox at Telegraph and Alcatraz, I focused somewhat randomly on a poster in the bus shelter. It showed some sort of landscape scene, with the silhouette of a person cast across it. I was trying to figure out what it was advertising. Travel? I couldn’t make much sense of it. Then the silhouetted figure moved, and I realised it was someone sitting at the bus shelter in front of the poster. The third person I saw on my walk. He or she (I never did come close enough to know) had been so still I was sure they were a design element.
When we got home, I was awake and invigorated from the brisk air. It’s odd, but I find this is often the case – if I get up early on short sleep, I find myself actually more alert and refreshed than I am when I can get a full eight hours. It doesn’t last through the day, but the morning hours become strangely buoyant.
I read my book while I breakfasted, then showered and thought about maybe shaving sometime but not today. Had a glass of orange juice and brushed my teeth. Baby Dog woke up and Mama gave her breakfast. I fed the dog and packed up my work stuff and brought the diapers up for the morning pickup. At ten to eight it was fully light out but the glare of the yellow bastard was muted by the friendly fog, still hanging about and looking for things to do. I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed off for my last work day of the year.
It was dark out – sunrise wasn’t due until 7:21 – and there was a pleasant blanket of fog reducing the world to a manageable half-block length. It was what passes for wintry cold round these parts and our street was as empty as Dick Cheney’s chest cavity. I’m not out and about much at such an early hour, and it was kind of a pleasant novelty. For reasons that don’t bear a whole lot of going into – let’s just say they involve a greeting card and a bag of poo, both originating from roughly the same environs, but bound for separate receptacles – I decided to eschew the quiet inner streets I normally favour on a doggy walk and instead head up Telegraph towards Alcatraz.
Even at barely past six on a Tuesday morning, traffic along Telegraph is brisk, but I saw scarcely another pedestrian the whole walk. I was a couple blocks up before I passed a heavily bundled jogger. I saw a guy across the street at the gas station trying repeatedly to close his car door. That was about it.
We passed the the guitar store with the obnoxious dogs who pace challengingly out the always-open door during business hours and bark ferociously through the glass when we come by after hours. Even they weren’t up yet. Doggy Dog peed on the tree outside the store that they think they own, and nary an alarum was raised.
As we walked the last block up to the mailbox at Telegraph and Alcatraz, I focused somewhat randomly on a poster in the bus shelter. It showed some sort of landscape scene, with the silhouette of a person cast across it. I was trying to figure out what it was advertising. Travel? I couldn’t make much sense of it. Then the silhouetted figure moved, and I realised it was someone sitting at the bus shelter in front of the poster. The third person I saw on my walk. He or she (I never did come close enough to know) had been so still I was sure they were a design element.
When we got home, I was awake and invigorated from the brisk air. It’s odd, but I find this is often the case – if I get up early on short sleep, I find myself actually more alert and refreshed than I am when I can get a full eight hours. It doesn’t last through the day, but the morning hours become strangely buoyant.
I read my book while I breakfasted, then showered and thought about maybe shaving sometime but not today. Had a glass of orange juice and brushed my teeth. Baby Dog woke up and Mama gave her breakfast. I fed the dog and packed up my work stuff and brought the diapers up for the morning pickup. At ten to eight it was fully light out but the glare of the yellow bastard was muted by the friendly fog, still hanging about and looking for things to do. I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed off for my last work day of the year.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 11:35 PM
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