Docked

I spent all afternoon writing a book review for the Historical Journal of Massachusetts, which is published by Westfield State College. I enjoyed reading the book -- a biography of photographer F. Holland Day -- and once I made myself start, I enjoyed writing the piece, book reviews being a new experience for me.

Meanwhile, because we're looking to refinance, an appraiser stopped by the house, and spent a long time wandering around outside measuring and taking pictures.  The schnauzer from down the street, Cinder, barked and barked and barked at the guy. Cinder runs free and thinks he owns the whole neighborhood.  So then the guy comes inside, and says curtly, "Is that your dog?"  I thought he wanted me to put a muzzle on the mutt, who's harmless but perhaps intimidating. So, I started to explain, but then the appraiser began jotting notes. I realized he'd actually asked, "Is that your DOCK?"  No difference in accents -- just misheard.  Which could've detracted from the value of our home -- he could've docked us for no dock.  Although perhaps Cinder did that for us anyway:  "Folks, we knocked 50 grand off the worth of your place cuzza that darn dog always carryin' on."
Tonight I'm off, solo, to a meeting of the Twin Rivers Paddle Club.  As in canoe and kayak paddling. 

But the chilly weather won't allow for any paddling for some time yet, no doubt.