I don’t know what to say. Seems pretty goddamn hopeless. I took a walk with Woody. I like walking behind him in the woods. I realized this somewhere in the Smokies—that I walk different, because I’m walking behind him. His entire being is focused on the walk. He sniffs the ground, sniffs piles of leave, sniffs tree trunks, and sniffs bushes like he’s scrolling twitter. When he finds a particularly interesting spot, he’ll shove his face in and suck at the scent like a wine snob. He’ll randomly sample plants along the edge. A little snack for the road. I was checking every time he found a new plant he loved. But each time found they were perfectly edible. The plants I know are toxic—the ivy and hemlock and bullwort, he avoids. So I trust him now. He seems to know what’s good.
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