I Need Golf Shoes

The relatively mild weather continues, with even a bit of sun thrown in here and there. Today Jack and self are cached behind the barn as a south wind, full of vim and vigour, is blowing up under our tails. Doc is doing some logging work in our grove of trees and Molly is literally eating the rail fence. The status quo prevails.

I am having one rather serious problem, however, and the woman is being no help at all. The others seem to navigate quite well on this icy/snowy/muddy terrain but I find myself stranded on the one patch of earth next to the barn. I loathe this footing and as a consequence become quite tense and stilted when I attempt to move about, exacerbating the problem. Jack breezes by, unfazed by the possibility of breaking something. The woman says I am neurotic, self-absorbed and unduly prone to fretfulness but I say I'm just careful.

I have heard of special shoes used by humans to play something called golf. I know these would solve my problem and surely four small ones would not be too expensive or hard to find? Or perhaps just some cheese graters to strap on my feet? Or why can't the woman simply carry me from place to place? Heaven knows the exercise would do her good.

Meanwhile, Jack continues to gallop about recklessly, leaping over things and making turns like a rabbit being pursued by wolves. Sometimes he even shoves me as he passes, trying to push me into action. I hear the wind whistling through his ears and he yells back over his shoulder "git yer a** in gear, sonny!" MOST unseemly for someone of his years but I choose to be charitable and chalk it up to late-blooming childhood.