Blue sky blue

Snowmobiles buzz intermittently along Mancelona road as I drive into town to fax an invoice to a client. It is a gorgeous day - the kind of day worth living for. I used to think I had to live out west to find days like this: clear, crisp, snow-covered and sunny. Ice fishing huts perch along Otsego Lake in clusters; random tracks from some snowmobile lead the way across the frozen lake toward them where a guy in Carharts sits patiently awaiting a nibble from a northern Pike. The huts are tiny pinnacles on a horizon dotted with trees on the opposite shore, and the sky, hand picked straight from a fresh box of Crayolas, "blue sky" blue, the tip still sharp and new.

It's a day for loud music and singing, which is what I do as I drive. It's a day that celebrates the simple joys in life in a simple town in Midwestern America. And, it's a day for dogs.

Any day is a day for dogs. And here are some. These are "the boys" of Joann's '09 team.



Jackson, with striking eyes, he is aloof yet hard-driving



George, a handsome, leggy lad on the team




Boston, a sensitive, sweet boy



Gibson, who Joann says is Mr. Crabby to all the other males




Prophet, an absolute lover. Here he is eyeing Gibson in the foreground

As I sat with the dogs today snapping portraits of them, I felt a dark presence watching in the distance not 50 feet beyond the first barrel of the dog yard. Dark figures, at least 20 of them, hunched with their dark backs in sharp contrast to the snowy ground. I moved closer. Is it what I think it is?



Star doesn't seem to notice the dark visitors beyond

Yep, apparently it's a day for turkeys too.