Hounds of Happiness

 

Look at this face.  This is the face of a happy hound.  I was very nervous about how I would take care of him when Lori first dropped him off in his box with a note that said, "Hi, my name is Baxter.  Will you be my mommy?"  I had just returned from a TDY to protect America from 'Merica, and knew that there would be more TDYs like in the near future as the election and the inauguration drew near.  I was correct and ended up all over the states.  

It all worked out.  We potty trained him and I got to enjoy watching my little 'tater grow up into a fine specimen of dachshund: a happy hound.  

    Yesterday was my fifty-fifth birthday.  Lori bought us tickets to see the Foo Fighters in concert at the Dena'ina Convention Center.  No seats.  Standing room only.  We showed proof of vaccination and arrived early to get a seat up close to the stage.  That was my first experience in the "mosh" pit.  

    We arrived inside the main area at six-thirty p.m.  The concert started at nine p.m. and ended around eleven-thirty p.m.  I was surprised that I was able to stand on my tired little feet for five straight hours.  We had a bit of a rough start when we realized that we were in the middle of a larger group of people who were all well on their way to being drunk.  One woman had to leave before the concert started.   The band was fantastic.  I have never heard of such a tight-knit group of musicians before last night.  They executed what my old chorus teacher used to describe as the pause that served as its own note.   

I thoroughly enjoyed being surrounded by other people kind enough to get vaccinated as a way to reunite with other people.  I didn't worry at all.  We wore our masks.  I was very happy.  

I barely remember this trip and all of these people in this picture. This was taken twenty-two years ago just after I met Lori. I remember the shorter, blond male, but not his name I fear.  Oh, yes, Harry, Harry Evans.  The man wearing jeans is, I believe, named Brian.  I ran with him and the fellow in the red shirt and the tan pants in the National Guard Marathon in Lincoln, Nebraska earlier that year.   We had a lot of fun as I recall.  I was very nervous about my part of the race, leg eight of an eight part race.  The race began in Skagway, Alaska at midnight and ended in Whitehorse, Canada later that same afternoon.  I do not recognize myself at all.  I know that I was exceedingly happy at the time having landed a job with the Guard as an electrician and having met Lori.  I was blissfully happy then, and busy, very busy. 

We drove to Skagway in a mid-size class C camper from Anchorage.  I recall there being many large frost heaves somewhere near Glenallen which was at the time still a well populated little town along the Alaska Highway.  Its shrunk now.  The collapse of the overland tourist trade has taken its toll on all the along the route. 

I think wecken as a