dogs

Our dog Toby has been eating cicadas the last few weeks. I limit him to three a day, though if I let him run free and wild amid the arboreal buffet I think he'd top that in a few seconds.

You've all heard the cicadas. It's our signature summer sound in the South. If you have hardwood trees you can hear them rasping in waves. It's a sharp, rolling, rusty sound. The woods around our house are rich with them, rich in sound—and calories.

Every morning at 8 A.M. our dog Toby gets off the couch and starts bugging me to go out. He's a creature of habit, and our habit, rain or shine, is to take a ritual morning walk.

"Into the wild," I always joke as I head out the side door. Our walk is "off-road" on a narrow trail. I guess it's a little less than a mile. Though not a trip into the Alaska back country or even the Chattooga Wild and Scenic River Corridor, our morning walk is often the wildest portion of a normal day. The weather is out of my control, the footing is a little uncertain, and turns in the trail are full of surprise and delight if I pay attention.