My Town, by Buster

Dear friends,

Mom and Persephone have snuck off to Florida to bask in the sun, enjoy the ocean, and, I hope, get eaten alive by mosquitoes.

I'm bored. Not just "bored," but "cosmically bored."



So, what's a male terrier to do? The only honorable thing--steal the car and go for a ride!

Behind the wheel of Dad's PT Cruiser, I can feel the raw power of my masculine countenance. I set off for the most exotic destination I can think of. My home town.


Let's take a quick tour! Now, one must understand that NOTHING ever happens here. Well, actually, once--back in 1776--a woodchuck declared its independence from the Crown, and promptly returned to its burrow and went to sleep. But basically, Cheshire is a quiet lump of dark matter in the Universe.



Most of the houses were built around the end of the last Ice Age and look like this.

Historically known as "The Bedding Plant Capital of Connecticut," (feel the adrenaline!) our town has found a new industry in oldness.

It's almost Halloween, and the Pumpkin Merchants are making trillions in squash derivatives and gourd-swap defaults.


It's amazing how an investment can grow...

This is Cheshire's version of Wall Street.



The Quinnipiac River meanders through town with the force of a supernova. Quinnipiac means "Long-Water-Country" in the aborginal Algonquin dialect. Significantly, the river's origin is a place called Deadwood Swamp.


Once, there was a watch factory here. But people became tired of knowing what time it was.


This is Cheshire Academy. It was founded many years ago by Anglicans in the hope that Cheshire would become more like its namesake across the pond. That was the trouble--it already was. Now Cheshire Academy draws students from all over the world. They walk across the street, go shopping, meet the natives and smile, sadly.


All Congregational Churches around here are called the "First Congregational Church." I've never encountered a "Second Congregational Church."

Maybe Cotton and Increase Mather gave sermons condemning witchcraft here. If so, maybe the witches won, because there isn't much fire-and-brimstone oratory going on.



This is our high school. It has a good football team, an awesome marching band, and the coldest bleachers in the galaxy.



Cheshire Nursery is a pretty good place to buy perennials, but their assortment of gourmet birdseeds warrants four stars in the Michelin Guide.


I don't like this place. Let's keep going!



Now that's better! Sweet Claude's Ice Cream Parlor! It's October 26th, and a tropical airmass brought warm rain followed by a perfect sunny day. I think I'll stop and join those folks on the lawn. I hope they have my favorite Chipmunk Entrail flavor.

Did I tell you that Cheshire was invaded by aliens, who left their young incubating in giant protoplasmic ova? When they hatch, we're all going to be in big trouble!

Here's Cheshire Park. It's where four-legged geniuses like me run and pirouette and catch frisbees and eat squirrels. Oh, the bliss!

Giant Mutant Cat! Must leap out window, catch him, and save humanity!


There aren't many places in this town that are not in the shadow of my little, private mountain. It's 200 million years old and was formed by an ancient volcano back in the days when Connecticut connected to Africa. I'm still looking for zebras.


Finally--I'm back in my front yard.


Where Norbert the Nuthatch holds court.



And Bailey, the whirling Dervish greats her long-lost adventurer at the gate.


The back looks cozy--so many leaves, all unautographed!


It's been a long day! I hope you don't mind...

Nap Time.

Cheers,

theBuster