I have need to be on fire. I have icebergs to melt. William Lloyd Garrison
My neighbor’s name is Jack. He only has the one name, like Sting, or Madonna. He’s a bit hairy and tends to shout at the most unusual things. In the winter Jack tends to shout a lot. At first glance it looks like Jack is shouting at the snow, which I guess is not really that unusual in New Hampshire. If we don’t get enough we tend to complain that it’s not winter and when we get to much there is fist shaking and … well, shouting.
Jack is the kind of fellow, short, petite, a bit wiry, who likes nothing better than running littler things to ground. Squirrels, chip monks, mice, but especially green tennis balls. Actually they only look like tennis balls, they are really imitation little animals.
When the snow is piled high, Jack has discovered that he can have hours of fun by playing in the snow with his ball. He runs up the mound of snow with a ball in his mouth, he drops the ball, revs up a bit and pushes it down with both feet. Then, with a shout or two, he furiously digs it out, grabbing it with his mouth, moves over a bit and repeats.
Drop, push, shout, dig, shout some more, grab, and repeat. For a good hour or so … Jack is happily shouting at the snow. Well really he is shouting at the snow ball, and not that kind of snow ball, but the imitation animal like snow ball.
When Jack shouts at the snow, or as everyone else calls it “barking”, he is just having the time of his life.