Imagine the lecture I heard on the way home.

Yesterday the Minnesota Monsoon stopped long enough for us to take little spin in Wolsfeld Woods. A spring foray into nature’s beauty promised a relaxing hike through the trilliums. At least that’s what Madam intended, until we met with the first surprise. It was then I remembered that spring trail riding was a bit like a good poker game, dandy entertainment that benefited from a periodic refresher course.  

Case in point: We went alone. No Omar, no Flora, not even big Shire Sven joined us on our Sierra Club tour. Not that all trail rides require companions, but an early encounter with a stern coyote reminded me of our need for trusted travel mates. Fortunately madam was still in the saddle after my hasty departure from the trail.

Next came a stroll down Mr. Gustafson’s rows of raspberries. Simple, until my tail unleashed a swarm of vicious insects camping among the leaves. Never mind that Madam claimed they were only ladybugs. I saw nothing ladylike about the assault and determined the need for my second speedy exit.

That’s when Madam asked, “Noah, are you practicing your impersonation of the Belmont Stakes? Those trainers would love to know that a batch of ladybugs can produce the same result as a starting gate bell,” she added with a mild smirk.

So, off we marched into the woods where we quickly met evidence of our recent rain—a massive mud hole. Not that I dislike mud. I adore mud. But, this stuff looked like government housing for a Burmese python, should one decide to move to Minnesota. Anyhoo, it required another scratch off on my part. This rather spectacular launch landed me in a hazelnut bush which inflicted sharp prickles to my tender under parts. Overall, it unleashed some high anxiety and a few unseemly words from Madam. Hence, she changed our hiking route and aimed for the neighbor’s tourist-friendly field. Surely it held no surprises.

We definitely underestimated the no surprises part. In fact, the first thing that came into view was a tall telephone pole with a hefty nest perched on the top. It was the nest’s proprietor that gave me pause – Mrs. Osprey who happened to be managing her family’s eggs. Now this formidable female had a head full of opinions and a set of talons to enforce them. Yet, it was her voice that really caught my attention. She took one shrieking dive at me announcing that I needed an escort out of town.

Well, suffice it to say, I was capable of making my own unescorted retreat. Thus we headed toward home at an awesome clip. Fortunately Madam made the return trip with me, though she insisted I walk once we cleared the area.

Imagine the lecture that followed.

By Noah's Blog Noah Vail