We hit 30 degrees this week. Hot damn it’s a heat wave! I woke up and had a few things to do. Tie flies, write something about smallmouth, and my wife told me to wash the sheets. The sheets weren’t dirty, they’ve only been on the bed a week. I sat down at my tying desk, pulled the vise to me, and started prepping hooks for poppers. That lasted ten minutes. The sheets were in the washer and the washer was making a hell of a racket downstairs. I hate that damned thing. I got the washer balanced again and ran back upstairs to tie some more feathers to hooks. Thud-thud-thud-thudda-thudda-thud-thudda-thud-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom. Dammit to hell. Run back down stairs to fix the washer again. The dog is looking at me from his chair. My coffee is getting cold. I’m not getting any flies tied and most definitely not getting any words put to paper. Sheets in the dryer. A quick shower. More coffee. Steve Earle coming from the speakers. The dog is looking at me like he’s bored. I resemble that.

I got a hold of a friend about a walk with the dogs. See you in twenty. Roger that. Fritz get in the car, we’re going on a walk. I turned off the dryer, walked out the door, and forgot about the sheets. I still haven’t got the flies tied or anything written but I did listen to my dog and got out of the house. I should listen to him more often.











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