Ian the Fence Guy: Morris Plains Dog Park Fence Should be done by Friday

Top Dog was having a restless night.  The rest of the pack was snoring like a saw mill, but Top Dog’s sleep was populated by strange dreams.

I dreamed I was at Central Park Morris hoping to see some progress on the fence.  I was walking around the perimeter and came across John Henry himself popping fence posts into the ground as easily as one would put birthday candles on a cake.  He held a stack of posts under one arm and with the other he’d grab them one at a time and swing a post in a mighty arc until it was in the ground as straight as an arrow aimed at the center of the earth.

I said, “Hey, John Henry.  Why don’cha use a power post hole digger?”

John Henry stopped so suddenly that I thought he’d smacked himself in the head with a fence post.  John Henry stood tall – as tall a man as I’d ever seen and he growled:

“A man ain’t nuthin’ but a man;
But before I let that power post hole digger beat me,
I’ll die with a fence post in my hand, Lord, Lord.
 I’ll die with a fence post in my hand.”

Top Dog moseyed over to Central Park Morris today and embraced a site that made his tail wag double time.  There, along the treed boundary with the group homes, was “Ian the Fence Guy.”  Ian works alone manually digging post holes.  Ian says that the fence should be finished by Friday afternoon.

So, Top Dog asked ItFG why he was not using a power post hole digger.  Ian responded that the Morris County soil proved to be too rocky for the power digger.  It broke on the first day and is still in intensive care.  The prognosis is not good.

All of this conversation was happening while ItFG was digging, digging, digging with his two handled manual post hole digger.  When he’d hit a rock, Ian would turn to his trusty pry bar and, with strength that belied his size, he’d harpoon that hole and the rock would almost jump out of the hole by itself and run for cover.

I woke up to the sounds of nighttime.  Snoring dogs; air conditioner humming along; a car passing on the street every once in a while; the early birds waking and looking for the proverbial worm.  Still not completely comfortable, I dozed sporadically:

There at the Dog Park was the spider, Charlotte, and she was spinning a web between the fence posts.  The web material was as strong as steel.

“Hey, are you Charlotte Russe?”

“What are you, some kind of comedian?  Can’tcha see I’m workin’ here?  Charlotte Russe has a cold heart but makes her way in the world with her a saucy disposition.  I’m Charlotte the Web Artist.  Been working on this here fence for my friend Wilbur.  He’s got some dog friends that are waiting for this here park to be finished so I thought I come help out.”

“When it comes to stretching the wire, we’ll have two additional guys to do that.

“Yeah, we should be done by Friday afternoon.”