Turning rough oak planks into an acceptable floor has its interesting challenges. They end about the time your patience with sanding exhausts itself -- or when you get tired of blowing through sanding belts at two bucks a crack. But the project really loses all charm after the first coat of fake varnish ("polyurethane," which I believe is Latin for "the product of many urethrae").
The instructions are clear: Wait six hours, then recoat. Then wait six more hours and recoat, a step I ignored. Then wait 24 hours , at which point the floor is ready for "light use." Try explaining "light use" to a frisky lab bitch. She won't get it, so get her out of town.
What I understand is these days called a "bio-break" became necessary en route. We took it down a long lane to nowhere, amidst the autumn brome, hard by the handsome grain which will soon -- by order of the commissars in Washington -- be distilled into motor fuel as a sound and healthy alternative to sour mash bourbon and prime beef.
En route where?
Ingham Lake, about 40 miles distant, a quiet little water said to harbor lunker northerns. You couldn't prove it by my catch, one runt bullhead, released. New Dog Libby seemed to enjoy things, however, specially steel-eyed, tail-up stalking.
"I love it when my human spills cheese curls. Also when he understands that even spent pyrotechnics have their uses."
And that is how you spend 36 hours waiting for your varnish to dry.