Moxie Bald Lean-to to Monson---July 4th

Hale to our Founding Fathers--- to John, to Ben, to George,
For their compromise in Philly and their grit at Valley Forge.

Who needs July fireworks when shooting stars will do?
But, with hiker hunger gnawing, I miss the BBQ.

A quick thunderstorm passed through at 7:30, but once it had finished dumping rain, I was ready to hit the trail.  My task for the day was to lead a stray dog the 17 miles to Monson.  I'd seen plenty of people with dogs on the A.T., now it was my turn to learn first hand what this was like.  The first step was to lure it away from the lean-to, which I did with the help of some old corn tortillas that someone had left behind.  The dog was really hungry and would probably have eaten just about anything.  The second step, after the proverbial carrot was gone, was to encourage it to keep following me.  I must admit that there were a few times that, as it lagged behind, I lost sight of it.  However, when I looked behind me, after allowing several minutes to pass, there it was, trotting down the path towards me.  I certainly felt sorry for it because I wondered how much energy it could have in its famished state.  Whenever I stopped for a break, I split my allotment of Pop Tarts with it.  Must have been quite grateful for the food and the attention since it gave me a case of the licky face.  What a sweet pooch!  There were a couple of stream fords that we had to negotiate, the deeper of the two causing some hesitation because the dog had to jump in and do a little swimming.  A lot of coaxing was required before it dove in, but it all worked out.  Upon reaching the far bank, the canine shook itself off and its tail started wagging a mile a minute.  Feeling good, it even took the lead on the trail, but never too far.  Just short of the blue blaze to Monson, the dog's owner came to claim it.  He'd been tracking it along the trail all morning by means of the radio collar.  The dog seemed happy enough to see the man and quickly took its spot in the cages in the back of the large pick-up, where three other dogs were being held.  The man thanked me for leading the dog out and offered me a ride into town, but I had to decline.  I was less than an hour out and besides, this was a thru-hike.  Nevertheless, I believe people think hikers are a little loco when we turn down rides.  There's always a strange look on their faces and something in their eyes that says "Really?  Did I hear you right?".
Forty minutes on the back roads and I entered Monson and the hostel called Shaws.  Fate smiling kindly upon me, I got the last bed upstairs, the others being taken up with a group of sobos.  Later in the afternoon, I got a shuttle through a violent thunderstorm into Greenville, where I was dropped off at the supermarket.  While buying provisions, the lights flickered and actually went off for about fifteen seconds, just long enough to give people a scare.  On the ride back, I saw my first and only moose munching grasses in a bog just off the road.  We pulled over to take a look.  They must be pretty elusive creatures, because with all the dung on the trail, you'd think you'd cross paths with them more often.
Really enjoyed my time at Shaws. A nice, relaxed atmosphere with friendly, helpful people.  I spent the late afternoon and early evening eating all the goodies I'd bought at the store (No raisin bran this time.) and watching TV.  Placed a call to my dad and sister to let them know I was still on track and set up for a successful finish.  A sobo couple kindly allowed me to finish the calzone and pizza that they could not.  The way I've been eating, it would appear that I was more famished than the dog.
In the common bedroom upstairs, hiker midnight came and went as Cam, Moccasin, Thumper, Bambi, myself and others talked trail.
Just a few things to finish up the journal entry.  I went down twice again early on today after losing my footing, once on slick rocks and the other in a small stream.  Should have taken more time to be cautious.  Simply amazed that I haven't had more dings like a sprained ankle or a strained muscle, but I've come away without a scratch. 
A couple of sobos that I passed out on the trail asked me to look out for a pair of insoles that had fallen out of one of their packs.  Sure enough, I found them later on, lying in the wet dirt at the side of the trail.  Carried them in a side pocket to Shaws and asked if it would be possible to forward them to Caratunk.  What a coincidence that the hostel owners will be passing that way tomorrow morning!

Licky Face