Walking with mr. Coe: sociopath and/or werewolf edition

Jason and I started walking Roscoe together on a regular basis recently. I love the three of us walking into town together. I love waving hello to our neighbors as we pass. I love that Roscoe waits attentively for us at the door of the store, and that the owner gives him treats as we leave. I love that, like the store owner, the winos and drunks on the park benches in town are literally delighted when they see Roscoe (it's weird, we're used to it and it's harmless).* I love that I get to walk with the two of them, though I have to admit that I don't think either of them care as much about the group walks as I do. Jason, at least, does it because he knows it makes me happy, but the dog couldn't care less who's doing the walking or how many of us there are.

Look at that dog go, full speed ahead! Roscoe has this home-store-home, Glen Arbor Drive circuit memorized.

Here he is at his favorite ivy patch on Glen Arbor.

Take a look at that insanely happy face above. A walk a day keeps the neurosis at bay.

On this afternoon's walk, I was able to snap some photos of the missing cat flyers that have been popping up in Ben Lomond over the past couple of months. These are just the two on our Glen Arbor circuit; there are tons of others (of other cats) tacked up around town.

The one above has been up for quite some time -- three months. The one below is "more fresh." SAD.

Oddly, I wasn't the one to take notice of all the missing cat flyers, Jason was. It may be because I'm just not that into cats** -- and Jason is -- but, in any case, I'm jealous that Jason made the Jessica Fletcher-esque old lady detective observation and not me. 

A couple of weeks ago, Jason said that he was concerned about the amount of missing cat flyers. When I asked why (because I'm a jerk who doesn't care for cats), he told me that he suspected that there must be teenaged boys in the neighborhood abducting and killing neighborhood cats. And then I said: THAT'S CRAZY. 

Once again, I'm jealous that Jason's having the weird old lady thoughts and not me. 

Rather than blame the missing cats on burgeoning young sociopaths, I actually think that it's coyotes. OR WEREWOLVES. I CAN PLAY THIS GAME JUST AS WELL AS HE CAN. 

But, no, really, I think it's coyotes.*** Which isn't any less scary! We've been having a lot of late night/early morning coyote pack action in the neighborhood lately. Few night-scares are scarier than waking up in the dark to the sounds of a yipping coyote pack. They sound like horrible old screaming crones. SPOOKY. 

I'll keep you updated. Or, actually, Jason might. This seems to be his crusade. 

* MOUNTAIN LIVING. 

** It isn't that I actively dislike them -- except for maybe one in particular whose name starts with an H and ends in a Y SARAH T KNOWS. 

*** Or a mountain lion! It's been a while since we've had a mountain lion prowling around, though, and word travels pretty fast if there's a new one so it's unlikely.