Over the years, this column has waxed multiple times about how bad weather prognosticators are, wondering how those people keep their jobs (or why we listen to them) when they are wrong repeatedly. It must be something in our human condition to continue to believe predictions that consistently turn out incorrect.

Enter the dog. One of our dogs, Pepper, is a great weather predictor. Maybe we could have her apply for a job at one of the local TV stations and see if she could adequately and successfully communicate with viewers regarding thunderstorms.

Sadly, that’s the only thing Pepper can predict. She’s not going to let you know about snowstorms or temperatures. But dang, well in advance, she knows when a thunderstorm approaches.
 
The only question that arises is when the storm will hit, how long it will last, and its intensity. But, you can be sure the t-storm is going to be a doozy when she gets into Weather Predicting Mode (WPM).
 
Her technique is simple (and I’m assuming this is how it works based on reading her body language, since, of course, she doesn’t speak to me directly). Far in the distance, thunderbolts erupt and slam into the earth, creating gigantic rumbles.  The ground trembles. Those tremors spread over great distances.
 
Pepper senses the rumbling of the turf in her sensitive paws, registers the incoming storm, and meanders over to let us know by trembling in terror, panting and putting her ears back (and, of course, looking very, very scared in her eyes).
 
Why she fears the thunderstorm, who knows? It must be primal. She’s a mammal that recognizes blasts of lightning could prove dangerous and life-threatening solely by the fact that there is power being exchanged, ignited, transferred from one location to another – from a cumulonimbus cloud to the ground.
 
If Pepper predicted on the TV screen, the show would have to take place in the basement or our bedroom. That’s where she goes to hide. Somehow she senses these locations are safer.
 
Pepper has never been wrong. Her timing has been off from time to time, but she’s always right eventually.
 
Years ago, I lived with a family who had a dog named Chicago. She, too, was a spectacularly accurate weather predictor.

Unlike Pepper, I doubt we could put her on TV, because her technique for communicating was more maniacal. Rather than coming to the human to demonstrate fear and concern, Chicago would go into closets and attempt to climb up the wall. Her terror was expressed through her claws as she repeatedly jumped and raked the closet wall.
 
Though she was equally effective as Pepper in predicting, this technique would not be good television. Then again, I’m no expert, and maybe it would be a wonderfully successful and unique option for weather forecasting on TV. “Amazing Dog Predicts Weather. Stay tuned for News Action 5 at 10 p.m. as we show you clips of a leaping dog letting his family know of an impending thunderstorm.”
 
Listen to the vibrations of the earth. Pay attention to your dog. They know.

​For the past five years or so, I’ve had the honor to serve on the Board of Directors of the Wisconsin Masters Games (formerly the Wisconsin Senior Olympics). In short, our mission is to put together games for aging athletes (ages 40+) to continue to challenge themselves physically and mentally while enjoying the camaraderie of competition.
 
Serving on the Board motivated me to take up several track and field events. Moving deeper into my 60s has forced me to recognize more limitations while at the same time opening my mind to the purer joys of sport. Yes, you want to do your best. Yes, you realize if you even attempt to sprint, you could easily tear a hamstring.
 
Participating in the games brings those challenges. You train, you push yourself. If you want to improve your time in the 800, 400 or 200 (the three events I’ve chosen to compete in the past two years), you must put in the training time. You can’t go out and decide to run without preparing. You want to finish the event without injury and do your best. In your earlier years, the goal would more likely have been to win the gold, silver or bronze medal.
 
There is a very specific joy in the aging athlete community. We support each other. There are sheer congratulations when someone finishes last, chugging along, doing their best.
 
The supportive nature of the community extends in many ways. The first year I participated, I chose to do the shot put. Two men in their early 60s were the top competitors in my age category.

Watching them warm up, I saw them go over to an older man, bent over, much smaller (both of my competitors where over 6’2” and 250 pounds). They chatted with him, encouraged him, gave him a hug.

As we stood and waited to make our throws, I asked about their relationship. “Oh, he’s our high school coach from downstate Illinois. We picked him up on our drive up here, and he’s going to throw the shot put, too,” was their abbreviated response.
 
I was stunned. Here’s this frail-looking man, in his late-80s and his two former athletes/students were still in touch with him and went out of their way to pick him up and drive him to Wisconsin so they could hang out together, reminisce and compete. I choked up.
 
Soon after that, I chatted with a woman waiting to throw the shot put for the FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE. She was in her early 80s, and couldn’t have weighed more than 110 pounds. Yet, there she was, excited, pumped up, ready to take on a new challenge. Ripples of electric current went through my body as I spoke with her and heard her story on why she chose to take on this new life challenge.
 
There’s something extremely special watching an old codger sprinting his butt off in the 100-yard dash, extending his dream from earlier years into the twilight days of his life. Before and after athletes finish, they cheer, clap and urge on their fellow competitors. It’s heartwarming and life-changing.
 
Competition, community, camaraderie, challenge -- the four C’s. The Wisconsin Masters Games has all four, and I hope we continue the tradition for many more years.

​Smelling fresh fruit is one of the great joys of life. I didn’t realize though until this past week how much most of us are deceived by what we don’t sniff.
 
My realization came about after some thievery. Returning from working out in the morning, I pass by multiple apple trees on the drive home. A couple of weeks back, I noticed several trees by the side of the road where thick strands of apples ripened bright red on the branches. Took note in my head to come back and pick them.
 
As is likely true for most humans, I forgot about this until one morning I was capable of retaining that thought and stopped the car next to one of the trees down the street a quarter-of-a-mile from our house. I clambered over a fence, pulled branches down and deposited 20-25 pieces of the perfectly-ripened pieces of fruit into my canvas bag.
 
Checking the landscape to ensure no one saw me steal, I Ieapt back over the fence, scooted to my car and blasted off. Whew. Back at the house, I plopped the apples into our fruit basket.
 
On a typical day, I don’t think much about my sense of smell. I go about my daily routines, doing chores, running errands, finishing up projects without thinking to myself (at least not with any degree of regularity), “Oh, wow, that smells marvelous!”
 
A day or two after depositing the apples, I did exactly that. Walking past our fruit basket and picking up one of the bright red honey crisp, I stopped, sniffed and said to my wife, “Do you smell these apples?”
 
She did not. I commented on how the sweet bouquet of fresh apple permeated our kitchen. It awakened the senses.

And then, of course, it set me to wondering. Why don’t we smell store-bought apples like this? Do they have some injection inside that limits their odor (and then, by extension, their taste)? I don’t know. Perhaps.
 
Or is just that fresh-picked apples have a much more expansive scent. Because they recently came off the tree, their aroma is stronger, sweeter, more pervasive. It’s probably a combination of those two factors.
 
Think about how we go through our daily lives not receiving this (and other) scent. We stroll through supermarkets and toss bananas, grapefruits, cantaloupes, potatoes, asparagus into our shopping carts. Do you sniff the produce? Of course not. You might be termed a weirdo, or someone would make a smart remark that your nose has germs on it or a booger is hanging out. “What the heck were you thinking?”
 
Instead, we zombie-walk our visits to the food store. We pick, we toss. We examine prices, consider options. But we don’t really inhale through our noses, letting wonderful fragrances inside our hearts.
 
Maybe fruit fresh from the vine or tree will help us do that with a greater degree of regularity. I certainly am much more aware now of the perfume emitted by fresh apples.
 
Because of that, it also feels like my life has been oh-so-subtly enhanced. I savor the apples more when I eat them. The crisp, tart taste goes up my nostrils. I chew slowly. Next time I whiff a McIntosh, Rome, Gala, Cortland, Envy, Gala or Empire wafting from a tree I’m grabbing my tote bag and head to the source.