Why I hate August

Most people love summertime.  I suppose somewhere in me, I do too, but I generally view it as something to be endured until we can get back to what is really important in the fall and winter.  June is nice, the kids are newly out of school, and the weather is warm without usually being oppressively hot.  It's good to be back outside and backyard grilling and family time is refreshing.  July is okay, Fourth of July cookouts and fireworks are wonderful, but I am already growing weary of cranking the lawn mower and it seems I am on a never-ending battle with an impending crabgrass takeover.  Duck season seems forever away, and the biggest hurdle is my nemesis, the month of August.  By the time August 1 gets here, I am done with summer.  I have once again lost the crabgrass war, and have generally enlisted some enterprising high schooler to mow the yard.  It is generally hotter than I care to think about, and my interest in participating in much more than a skeet shoot after dark is at a minimum.  The REALLY cruel thing, however, is that TIME STANDS STILL!

I have long felt that August was, at a minimum, 300 days long.  My commutes back and forth to work show me the geese are starting to fly again and large numbers of them congregate around loafing ponds, mocking me, no doubt preparing their disappearing act for the early season opener on September 1. Doves perch on every power line, and the teal scouts start arriving in the marsh, all knowing I am helpless to do anything about it.  In order to be able to take time off when I really NEED it off during season, I have to hunker down at work,
and that is exhausting in its own right.  The pages of the day-to-day calendar don't get torn off quickly, and I feel like September will never arrive.   To confirm my suspicions, my technical staff actually made me an August calendar that proves just what I thought, 318 days!!

I KNEW IT!!!

Roux and I battle with how to make the time pass.  We walk and run together in the mornings before it gets hot.  We train in the evenings when it begins to cool down.  On weekends we have done some hunt tests, which are a bunch of fun and they allow us to pretend we are hunting.  However, we both know it is just a game.  This past weekend, he just looked at me as I stood with a popper-loaded shotgun and a flock of geese flew over the hunt test pond, with an expression that said "let 'em have it, Dad!".  I was powerless to make it happen.

The Brown Dog with some August Bling!

I just have to keep re-assuring him (and myself) that September will get here, eventually, and all these geese, doves, and teal will be fair game again, despite the fact it seems we have both had three birthdays since August started.  Does anyone else have this problem, or is it just me?  I know Ramsey always says, "it's duck season somewhere", and I am going to have to take him up on one of these south-of -the-equator hunts soon.  You can rest assured, it won't be in June or July, it will be in August, because I want my 5 day hunt to last at least 3 weeks!!!

We figured out how to make it through this August day in style, at least.

Until September, remember,
Brown is Beautiful!