My husband bought a new bike.

He has a bunch of these, we had to build a shed on the back of the garage, long ago, to contain them. And their accessories. They have bits and pieces and gears and gadgets. They need many wheels and chainlinks and knick knacks and kabobs.

Oh and the shoes. You have to have right shoes. And a backpack to hold your water. And special light system if you ride in the forest at night. And sprockets. And handlegrips. And titanium carbon fibers because of the tweedle dees. And the right jacket for the right conditions and the jersey and the socks. Don't forget the socks.

It's technical.

Many times the answer involves technical.

I have one bike. It has hot rod flames painted on the seat and a basket on the back for Ruby. Sometimes I ride it with a flat tire. It's a good bike.

So he bought this new bike. Its a beauty, in it's special, technical way. I don't know what he spent, but it is a very handbuilt artisan hewn mixologist version of a bike. He treats it lovingly, spends as much time taking care of it, back there in the shed, feeding it and oiling it and adjusting it's adjusters with tiny little thingamajigs, well into the night.


So I mention this, because I heard a lot about this new bike before he added it into his pack. Much fanfare announcing it's impending sprockets. I can't really even count how many bikes he has already, I believe that some may have been cannibalized to clone limbs for their relatives, and there may be some hiding out in other places I don't even know about.

"So, since you got a new bike, maybe I should get a new dog?"

He didn't say anything. Silence of the lambs. When lambs are trying to decide, what is exactly the right answer here, that makes one not appear too sheepish, for perhaps adding on a family member that one doesn't necessarily NEED.

In his silence, I showed him how, if we just got rid of the kitchen/dining room/entry table, we could have a puppy pen, in case we got a new dog, and in case that new dog was a puppy. Which I think is an animal best held captive for a while.

Whoever needs tables anyways?

Then off he went, to ride up on to a mountain in the dark. Me and the dogs, and the old bikes left behind, we stayed here.

When he came home, he said that he doesn't like dogs that are too hairy. Or ones like Billy the farmer, missing fingers from a long ago incident with home made explosives, has running loose on his brussels sprout field. And that border collies don't fit in the living room.

Then back outside he went, to tend to his new best friend.