Fresh Pond Reservation

35 degrees, some clouds, sunny, breezy. Tracks in the snow from... something. Dog discovers lost glove--but doesn't fetch. Dogs are a simple kind of predicting machine. Namely, a large Doberman, who dropped his ball at my feet. That was taken as an invitation to throw it. He anticipated the direction of my throw--but not my intent to fool him. Finally, on the throw, I angle it to bounce over his head, as he runs towards me to anticipate where it will be when the path of the ball and his jaws intersect. He tried, but is not as smart as me in that department. On the other hand, he'd win nearly every time if we were in competition for the thrown ball.



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