Game time

It's been a long stretch since the weather was cold and the trees were bare of leaves. Everything since then leads up to now in more ways than one.

Workouts in the heat, watching film, drills, even a little scouting. No off-season injuries either, knock on wood. A few of the redshirts have eyes on the starting lineup. Last year's record wasn't exactly one for the record books. Maybe a new look on the uniform will change the luck. Everyone is undefeated at this point.

The season kicks off this weekend.

Someone said football starts, too.

What's a clock?

This happens several times a week, proving that instant gratification is not purely a human weakness. He doesn't seem bothered by the reality that opening day is still 3 months away.

I've heard that dogs have no concept of time, at least in certain context. None I've seen need a clock to know it's feeding time.  When it comes to elapsed time or relative time, however, I'd be inclined to agree. How else to explain the same surge of joy whether you've been gone two hours or two weeks?

It must be nice to spend your time not burdened by regrets and fears or wishing you could re-create the glory days. Now is all there is and if something not so good is happening now, well, every second is a new now.

Time only matters when you're getting paid by the hour anyway.

Home sweet home

The Wall Street Journal reported last week that Longpine Plantation in south GA finally sold after five years on the market. At roughly 6000 acres, Longpine is neither the biggest nor the smallest place in the area but its sale was considered newsworthy nonetheless, possibly because the previous owner was a Ford.

The initial listing price was $40 million, later reduced to $34 million and ultimately let go for $27 million and change, which just goes to show that lowballing really works. In some worlds.

I'd be lying a big fat one if I said I wasn't a tiny bit jealous of a guy with the coin to make such a purchase. Of course that's just the cover charge, the yearly upkeep running about what a mediocre NFL player makes. The mere thought of feeding the string of 35 Longpine-bred bird dogs is enough to make me cringe. Not likely a problem for the new owner who, according to the Journal, collects ranches and plantations like I collect chigger bites.

If it's true, their claim of a peak count of 6.7 wild coveys per hour since 1998 is astounding even in the best of years. At that rate a limit is not only possible, it's embarrassing if you're not done by lunch. I'd love to give my dog just one day of that olfactory heaven.